Well, it was bound to happen. I had a mini-meltdown about the dog situation.

See, the thing is, I'm an insanely passionate dog lover. I've always been an animal lover, but as I've gotten older (and more philosophical, for better or for worse), I've come to love dogs even more intensely. What other animal, I asked myself recently, in a sudden spiritual and philosophical fit, exists simply to teach humans how to love unconditionally? I mean, if you believe that everything in existence has a purpose and can teach you something, one of the main things you can learn from dogs is how to love fiercely and joyously. How to forgive no matter what. How to have fun, wherever you are. How to lick your butt.

Seriously, though, whenever I think about how good dogs are, even the "bad" ones, it just about makes cry.

In the past several weeks, D and I have visited about 500 million animal shelters. I'm determined to get our dog from a shelter or a rescue foundation, because getting one from a pet store or a breeder seems wrong to me. Sure, purebred dogs are pretty, but they don't need to be saved. Someone, somewhere will buy them. Abandoned dogs in shelters? Not necessarily. So we are determined.

The thing is, if you visit enough animal shelters, it can really get you down. Every single dog there wants to be loved. Every single dog there runs up to the bars of its cage when you walk by, barking and whining and crying, and just about demanding to be taken home and loved. Some of the dogs have terrible, sad backgrounds. They were abandoned. They were beaten, burned and mutilated. They are old and blind. Their owners moved and couldn't take them with them. Each story is more heart-wrenching than the last.

So. Looking for a dog can be really, really hard, especially when you're an overly sentimental fool like me. Add that to PMS, and you've got a recipe for disaster.

Friday night, while searching the shelter web sites with D, it was just too much. I felt myself tearing up just a little at first, and I tried to fight it, but there was just no stopping it. I sobbed and sobbed an sobbed until I was one big slobbery mess. I was as surprised as D. Typically, I am not a crier - it's just not how I express myself - but Friday night, I was overcome with misery for these dogs, and I couldn't stop bawling. Poor D. He comforted me the best he could, but there was nothing to be done except cry myself out for a while. I felt better afterward, but I told D that I needed to take a few days off from sad doggy stories.

Sunday we were going to go to another shelter, but I told D I couldn't. "I need to see some happy dogs," I said.

So went to a dog Easter parade instead. What is a dog Easter parade? you ask. It's just as ridiculous as it sounds. It's a parade for dogs dressed up in their Easter finery. There are prizes for the best bonnet, and for the most unique costume.

And it was just what I needed.