My first day with the new pup has been surprisingly good. As we bundled him up and hopped into the car, I had flashbacks to the first few days with Emerson. He peed everywhere. He refused to poop unless we took him on long walks through the chill of late November nights. He demanded our undivided attention at all times.

I remember telling the boy to bring him back. I resisted his wet puppy eyes, telling me I should love him unconditionally. I wanted to be selfish. I locked myself in the bedroom and cried. And then I grew to love him in a way I couldn't believe was possible. When he ran away, I worried as much as any parent. When he was sick, I patted his belly. When he had puppy dreams, I looked at the boy and sighed in bliss.

This new pup, Sebastian, looks just like Emerson did when we first got him. The dark brown fur, the hint of white on the tip of his tail. They both have a white spot on the backs of their necks. And he's spirited, just like Emerson was. He was the one chasing after the other pups, waking them after they'd decided not to play anymore, chewing on toes and scarves.

He cried, just a little, when we put him to bed last night. He woke up at 5am, but quieted when we told him to. He's pooped three times, all outside. And he's run around the living room only to return to his potty mat each time he pees. Both dogs reached for the same toy. A rough game of tug-of-war ensued. I didn't really believe dogs did that.

It's tough to know when you begin to love the new pup. I don't think it was instantaneous. Maybe when I realized he was following me around the kitchen as I made dinner. Or when he hid between my feet when cars would go by. Or when he gave me kisses with a fingernail-sized tongue.