Hounding

I want an Irish Wolfhound. My birthday is coming up, so I've been snuggling up to the husband and suggesting gifty things here and there. Tonight, as we watch the Saints play the Falcons, I snuggled up and told him in low tones that I have a suggestion. I suggested we get a wolfhound. I heard the following:

"I would rather adopt a kangaroo."
"I would rather adopt a Somali warlord."
"I would rather adopt a mink farm."

So then we discussed that the real solution involves us owning another home, where I would live with Buck and the wolfhound. This home would be a large stone cottage (read: small castle) on a good chunk of land (not too much, though), abutting some woods. These things could totally exist around here. And I would live there and go for trail runs with my well-tempered wolfhound. The rest of the while, the hound would defend us and/or sleep by the fire. Done.

I'm not sure where husband will be. He'll be here in Edison, I guess. He'll come up the road to visit. UNLESS! OMG, unless the large stone cottage were in France! Somewhere in the Dordogne, perhaps. Close enough to a train station so we could jump on the TGV to Paris, where we'll also have a pied-à-terre. Of course, the hound would not want to be in our tiny apartment in Paris, so we'll need someone who can keep him company at the cottage when we're not there. Shoot. OK, so I need an old, grumpy Frenchman to live there on the property with us. I won't be able to understand him very well, but he will be devoted to the wolfhound, and will sneak rich meats to him. (wolfhounds shouldn't have a heavy-protein diet). Wes will like the grumpy old Frenchman because they will sit around and occasionally drink too much wine together. Ok. I'm going to go update Wes with this more elaborate plan. Wish me luck.