My husband burst through the door, fresh from a bike ride with our daughter.

“Amy,” he said. “You’ve got to see the bulldog puppies in our neighbor’s front yard! They’re for sale.”

My daughter looked on, too hopeful, too knowing about my feelings toward dogs. I liked dogs well enough -- other people’s dogs -- but after a ferocious experience with a rogue Lab, one that left my dining room and living room sets, all of my rugs, two doors, several windows, even the cedar shingles that covered our house in tatters, I knew better than to adopt a puppy. I wouldn’t give in this time, but seeing my daughter there, her hands knit in prayer, I knew I had to navigate this carefully so in the years to come I wouldn’t be the bad guy.

Eyeing the stack of bills I was tending, I found my out. “How much?”

My husband laughed. “Twenty-five hundred.”

I laughed louder. I’d won.

“Sorry,” I said with a sweep of my arm to indicate our bills. “We just can’t.”

From his jacket pocket, he pulled a scratch ticket, something foreign and shiny, a desperate attempt at luck. Seeing how hopeful he was and knowing the odds, knowing my daughter couldn’t blame me if I tried, I gave my own silent prayer of thanks. It was my lucky day after all.

“If you scratch that and win,” I said, “we’ll get the dog.”

He did.

Not long after, I stood in that front yard with all of my children, watching a litter of fat English Bulldog pups rolling and tumbling. I felt ill. I couldn’t bear the thought of taking one home and the years of drudgery ahead. Watching them nip and tug at each other, I imagined how one would soon lay waste to my home.

The breeder, a woman I’d known since childhood, beamed at them. “Aren’t they adorable?” she said. I didn’t disagree -- aloud. “They’re Valentine pups, born on Valentine’s Day.”

Still, I couldn’t imagine falling in love with any one of them. And then, I turned.

There, across the yard, my son held one of the puppies, one I’d missed. He was far plumper than all the others, calm. My son placed him on the ground and the little guy plopped onto his bottom. Apart from my children, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. When he swiveled his head in my direction, our eyes met. Something inside of me gave way, a rushing, tumbling, swooning sensation: love.

I crossed the distance between us, scooped the babe into my arms, pressed him against me and felt his little heart beat against mine, become one with mine.

From that point on, I have loved Babe the Bulldog, my Valentine pup – and every other dog I’ve met since – with all of my heart and soul.

It truly was my lucky day.