I have a confession, one I’m hesitant to make for reasons that will soon become clear, but my conscience compels me to make it.
I have a new dog. A puppy. Her name is Ella Wren.
Yes, “Ella” honors Fitzgerald, who started her career singing on the streets in Harlem, not many blocks from here, some 90 years ago. Wren was the puppy’s shelter name; we liked it, so we kept it. To me she is a beauty: brindle all over with a long, elegant snout and sad brown eyes. She’s nearing 40lb at just 4 ½ months: She’s going