“Let’s have lunch in Paris,” my husband likes to say.

“Great,” I’ll reply to his suggestion. Of course, this is our little Maine in-joke. We can have lunch in any one of the major cities or countries of the world without leaving the country – Lisbon, Norway, Naples, even Peru or Poland. There are many more, and there are good reasons why the town fathers in the mid-1800s chose the names they did and it is fascinating research, but that is not the point of this story.

One particular, brilliant September day, we headed to Paris (the one in Maine) to pick up our new 9-week-old, 3-pound female apricot shih tzu-toy poodle puppy.

She was born in Paris, on Bastille Day (July 14), so what else should she be named but Paris? Bringing this shy, fluffy, sweet puppy into our lives has made all the difference.

That was almost 11 years ago, and a near-death experience she had last summer reminded me how grateful we are to still have her through this winter.

Our first family “farm dog” as our son referred to her, Gingerbread, was a rescue retriever-collie mix who was faithful, loyal and utterly irreplaceable but succumbed to Lyme disease long before we moved to Maine. We waited until after our first grandchild was born to become dog owners again, probably as a result of an overflow of maternal instincts.

Paris has never failed to evoke comments and smiles wherever she goes. She has stopped truckers, kids, store clerks, anyone who comes in contact with her – our blind, 102-year-old mother-in-law included.

For years, in South Portland, then in Brunswick at our store, Mulberry Cottage, she was often carried around by our salespeople to stop her from announcing the arrival of each new customer.

Big dog owners make comments like “Eight pounds, that’s not even a big cat!” or “What can she do? Her mouth isn’t big enough for a Frisbee or ball” or even, “She looks like a stuffy toy!”

When our neighbor informs us the barred owl is back hanging out, we are sure to put a leash on Paris and go out with her. The image of her being scooped up and carried off is just too terrifying.

But – and it is a big “but” – Maine has long winters and even longer springs. It never fails to make you smile if you can put something cuddly and warm in your lap.

Especially when it’s something that’s mostly quiet, stares at you with two button black eyes and doesn’t eat more than a half cup of dog food a day. And it’s even better if she can dance on her hind legs or do her business on command and bring smiles to even the most hardened pre-teen.

So, bring it on Maine! We will make it till spring on our island in Casco Bay, because in our hearts we will always have Paris.

— Special to the Telegram