Sir Charles,

You have been home a half-year now, yet this is my first note to you solely. My apologies; you’ve kind of left me thunderstruck since your arrival.

A confession: I adopted you as a supplemental pup. I wanted Jadie to have a pal, a sibling, a guarantee that she live adorned in unapologetic love. And how you adorn.

What I hadn’t planned on was that adornment becoming integral. No, essential. And not just to your sister, but to me.

You are small (compared to Jadie): 30-pounds of car-friendly serpentine velcro that looks to anticipate — to submarine — whatever my next step. You grant me a 15-yard leash of unaccompanied movement in open spaces. Surveillance, of course, is mandated 24/7, and, to hear you tell it, isolated confinement for either of us may as well be the death penalty.

To say I don’t love every bit of that is to lie outright.

But see, Jadie was to be the velcro pup. Jadie was to be the side presence. Jadie was to be the co-pilot. And she is that. Seismically so. And you fit so well in each other’s life cockpit I will think: ’Dumbass, YOU’RE the supplemental one.’

But there’s that 24/7 surveillance thing, and you seem ever-present to correct me. I swear to god, I think you listen to me. Like, listen: You cock your head at every sound from this cavernous skull. I have few closeups of you NOT looking at me cock-eyed, like I’d just done something stupid. Wait a sec…

Anyway, the point is that you were a rogue wave, a bundle of cosmos that proved so much more once I got my Hubblehead in proper orbit.

You play in the big dog park because small dogs bore you. You fit on an ottoman you can’t help but eat. You’re too short to run fast. You have ruptured tendons and torn skin to play. But apparently all are requisite to run with the big, risky ones.

I guess you knew that long before us.

So let’s end your first note on two points.

One, you were never supplemental; dad just has vision problems.

Two, welcome to the family. It looks good on you.