I'm sure a couple of you saw my new web address and thought, "Wait a second. This girl marries into the family and then screws up our name. What's this bitch playing at?" Many have heard - because our friend Tom and I love to tell it - the story about J telling us over and over again that his name is spelled M-C-D-O-N-O-U-G-H after we saw a license plate that said MCDUNA and pointed it out to him. He didn't laugh, or say "Oh yeah, look," but instead said "It's McDonough," and that was that. For him anyway. We've gotten considerable mileage over mocking his somewhat uptight attitude when it comes to the spelling and pronunciation of his last name.

When I went to choose a URL for my new blog site, I wasn't sure what to go for. Unfortunately my first choice - noagenda.com - had already been purchased (by someone, by the way, who isn't even using it, thus upsetting me further) and I didn't really want to use my name as it's actually spelled. That seemed, I thought, as though I was embarking on a more serious endeavour. I thought that caramcdonough.com might be expected to contain scientific data. And writing I wouldn't mind future employers seeing. Not writing, for instance, about strippers at bachelorette parties and whatnot. Although, I don't know, that might work in some situations.

So I thought about the McDuna incident, and how I'd already threatened to use that should I ever get my own website anyway, and decided it was a good fit. Now, with major help from others, I've got the site the way I want it for now, and shall commence, once again, regular posting on this, my new site.

But don't worry, guys. About the name? I mean, I know, I know. It's McDonough.

While this whole new blog business has made life rather exciting lately (I told you, a whole new level of nerdiness) one aspect of our life that has been scarily calm as of late is our little cinderblock house, and that's because Cecilia is up north and will soon be headed to Camp Buffalino in Maine. Camp Buffalino is not a real summer camp. Rather, it's a phrase I've coined in my own mind to describe the wonders my dog will behold as she travels up to a house on the ocean to spend her summer with a rock band.

Buffalino,¬you see, is spending their summer in Boothbay Harbor, rocking hard, and then will be on tour down the east coast. As Vinnie is the drummer of this awesome band, I asked if he wouldn't mind adding my dog to the cargo, especially since he'd already agreed to take the labradoodle, Cecilia's bosom friend.

I knew leaving Cecilia up in D.C. this weekend, where Vinnie will pick her up, would make me sad, and it did. As she stared at me with sad eyes while I drove away, I couldn't help but think she probably thought I was abandoning her, and that the feeling might remind her of the abandonment she'd experienced as a puppy, before she was brought to the animal shelter. Once back home in North Carolina I felt sorry for her, and for me,¬before I remembered that dogs don't exactly experience complex emotions such as these, and that Cecilia was probably scratching herself on the kitchen floor awaiting her new owners, or whoever she thinks they are, and totally ready to explore some wooded areas. In fact, she probably wasn't sad, whatever that means to a dog, for more than¬three or four¬seconds, if that.

Since I was so obsessed being¬depressed about leaving her, I didn't realize what¬the lack of her presence would mean for our house. J, on several occasions, let slip that he was - oh, maybe not happy - but not too bummed that our¬lovely, 70-pounds-of-muscle-dog wasn't around. "Oh, Cecilia's not here. Maybe the bluebirds can peacefully¬lay their eggs and have babies without worrying about getting eaten in our backyard," he'd say.¬Or, "Hey we don't even have to put a sheet on the couch when we leave now, because it's only Mina, and Mina's really¬clean!" Stuff like that.

Now that it's been a couple days, I do see what he's saying. The house is cleaner, our work before leaving the house in the morning, less (not having to clear the coffee table of remote controls and cell phones on the off chance Cecilia¬might decide¬to revert to her younger, more mischeivous ways and eat one of them) and the house has assumed a sense of general calm. It's almost unnatural. Even Mina, who is generally fired up, or even a little vicious, has become a sweet, quiet thing who sleeps all day long and hides under our bed in the morning, almost as if she's trying to catch up on rest she misses out on when the presence of another dog means she's constantly on an assault mission. I mean, what do you expect? Do you expect¬her to allow Cecilia to sit there and eat her bone WITHOUT a Miniature Pinscher/Pomerian Mix humping her back at an alarming rate? No.

I'm excited to see my wonderful, big dog later this summer, but must admit I am at least somewhat excited, too,¬for a month or so of easy dog walks (when they weigh ten pounds there is no question who is boss) and not being woken up at 6 a.m. when someone, at the height of their adolescence,¬sees a squirrel, and if she isn't allowed to go get it, she is probably going to die, so she'd better lick your leg, and cry, oh, and breathe hot breath right in your face,¬until you wake up and all is well again.¬¬¬