This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

When a cherished pet dies, there are two ways to respond.

You can decide not to invite another pet into your life because the thought of losing it — and loss is always part of the package deal when it comes to animals — is too unsettling.

Or you can, in spite of it all, acquire another cat or dog or bird or whatever it was that caught up your heart in the first place.

As far as I'm concerned, both of these responses are acceptable. No one gets to tell you how to feel or what to do. It's your call.

Having said that, I've always fallen squarely into the second camp — which is the reason there's been such a long line of animals who've taken up residence (on the couch, usually) at chez Cannon. I'm like my mother that way. She never said no to anything we brought home. Dogs. Cats. Hamsters. Guinea pigs. Rabbits. Birds. Lizards. Turtles. Fish. She didn't even object when I gave my youngest brother a rat for Christmas one year because you know how it is! Nothing says Merry Christmas like a pet rat!

Anyway. The point is that when one of our pets has died, I've always been willing to welcome another one into our home — that is, until our big brown Newfoundland dog, Zora, died last fall.

When people asked afterward if we were going to get another Newf, I said no. Owning a dog that weighs more than you do is not a casual commitment. Also, Newfs are not tidy animals, mostly because they're dogs. Unlike cats, dogs don't sit around grooming themselves all day. In fact, when it comes to personal hygiene, dogs are totally the 10-year-old boys of the animal kingdom.

Newfies are especially messy. They drip water after drinking. They shed. They track mud across your kitchen floor with their Sasquatch-size paws. They drool. Also, they drool. Then they drool some more. And after they drool, they shake it off. They just shake, shake, shake it off.

But here's the real reason I told people I didn't want another Newf. Zora was a singular animal, a unique and enormous (!) presence in our home. She presided over the living room like the Great Sphinx of Giza, regarding all who entered with amber leonine eyes. And when we walked down the street, traffic stopped. You could see people's mouths move. "That dog looks like a bear!"

How do you replace an animal like that?

The answer is, you don't.

But then one day I noticed how much I missed a big dog leaning into me as I folded clothes or sorted through the mail or stood at the kitchen sink. Yup. I missed the Big Dog Lean.

It's true you can never replace something you've loved. In fact, you shouldn't try. But why deny yourself the pleasure of another companion, one who's both familiar and fresh?

You can see where this is going, right?

We have a new Newfie at our house. A black female puppy. We sit around and listen to her grow. She'll be big one day. Huge! Which is why we named her Tinkerbell.

Who doesn't love a fairy who makes the walls shake whenever she tumbles into a room?

Ann Cannon can be reached at acannon@sltrib.com or facebook.com/anncannontrib.