Three months later, that decision is out the window as we found a perfectly delightful, four-year-old black lab cross at the Humane Society.
He is a big, sucky, lovebug.
He's actually pretty well trained and understands "out!" means get out of the kitchen. He also has sit and lay down.
And he's a runner. I took him out for a jog this morning and while it took a little longer while he sniffed and poked around and did dog-things (like trying to chase deer and cats) it was a pretty successful run and he dragged me out of bed at 4:30 when I felt guilty for rolling over and going back to sleep instead of taking him out for a walk.
He is still the dog with no name as we try to figure out what's going to work. The name he was assigned at the Humane Society is not going to work and he didn't respond to it anyway.
Anyway, loving our new dog, even as I worried that I'd come home to find he'd escaped from his kennel, eaten the cats and chewed a hole in the couch. I arrived home to find him casually hanging out in his crate, excited to get out and explore the back yard.