Yuen: Even for an experienced dog owner, nothing humbles you like a new puppy

Forgive me if this column seems a bit disjointed. I have one eye on a wiggly puppy, and she is pacing around my home office, sniffing.

Is she searching the floor for runaway crumbs? Or is she scouting for a prime location to pee?

She’s gone from a half a dozen accidents a day to no accidents, and now back to six. As for me, I’m sleep-deprived. Overstimulated. Irritable. And lovestruck.

Months ago, I told friends that I needed a new puppy like a hole in my head. But the desire to bring one home was building inside me. In my Oct. 3 column, I shared with you that I questioned whether I could ever take in another dog after my canine soulmate, Memphis, passed away six years ago. I couldn’t imagine loving another pup as much as I loved him.

Of course, once you start meandering the internet for adoptable puppies and then visiting them in person, you’ve already decided, even if you don’t know it: You’re getting a new puppy.

Lamentations from my husband were frequent and fierce. He reminded me about the work and anxiety that new puppies produce. I countered with the universal gesture for Mother Cradling Baby. “A little joy would be good for us,” I told him. Plus, I insisted, we should do it for the children.

So that’s how we came to adopt Frankie, a “beagle mix” who was plucked from a kill shelter in Arkansas by a wonderful Minnesota rescue organization, Rescue Network.

I don’t see a lot of beagle in Frankie, and my iPhone’s built-in dog scanner is convinced that she is all Dobermann. With her chocolate brown coat and splotches of creamy tan, she seems to have descended from a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. (Don’t worry and don’t judge — we’ve already splurged on a dog breed DNA test.)

All of my second-guessing melted the minute I scooped up Frankie to bring her home. I wrapped her in the buffalo plaid wool blanket that used to belong to Memphis, and into the car we went. Nothing confirms that you made the right decision more than a warm puppy in your lap.

Still, I wasn’t prepared for the surprises that came. Here’s what I’ve learned:

“She does seem like a very special hound,” said my husband, who has recently taken to referring to himself as “Daddy” in an octave higher than his regular voice whenever he talks to Frankie.

I want to thank the dozens of readers who’ve written me to share their own heartbreak over the loss of their first pets, as well as their gentle encouragement to give a new pup a chance.

“Dogs take a piece of our heart when they go, leaving a piece to be filled,” one reader commented. “It is time to fill your heart.”

I’m filling my heart with the new knowledge that yes, you can have more than one dog love of your life. But I need to get going now. Frankie is circling again and biting my chair.

So that’s where our story ends. Actually, I’m pretty sure, it’s just the beginning.