We called her Toots, for about a day. And then I could not look at our wild-haired, chipmunk-size puppy and call her that name, which belonged to one of my closest friends and, as it happened, me. We had been there through every relationship, move, pet, celebration and crisis since we met at our first post-grad school job in New Jersey, where our names emerged the day a newsroom co-worker called out, “Toots, the phone is for you.” I’d stood up indignantly and yelled, “Don’t call me Toots!” After that, my friend offered it up as a joke, and soon I was calling her Toots as well. It stuck, even after I moved back to my home state, California.   My husband and I had looked for a dog before the pandemic, but during the shutdown, everyone...

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