When I went to pick out a puppy for Katie's 13th birthday, I still wasn't sure what I was going to get. I visited a lady who raised Yorkshire Terriers, but I was never into that cute, little, "my dog is a fashion accessory" type of pet.

She opened up her little baby gate and these tiny little black and brown whisps of puppies came toddling into the living room.

"Oh, these are cute," I thought.

"Oh, these are tiny," I thought.

Then this other puppy came barreling out, bringing up the rear. He was twice as big as the other puppies and I saw the lady give me a tight-lipped smile.

"Every few litters, the mother has one really large puppy. I'm not sure why. It's really weird."

'Hmmm,' I thought, checking out the ginormous puppy. "Now that's a dog that can hold his own with the Keeley family.'

"I'll take him!" I said.

That was how this family acquired Oscar, and he fits this family like a glove. He plays with the kids, barks at the mailman (who is actually a woman), sleeps on the sofa, and cuddles up with anyone and everyone in the family.

And when his hair gets especially shaggy, he looks just like a wookie.

And, yes, he's large. He's a big yorkie. He looks at those little teacup yorkies and thinks they are rodents. The other day I was walking Oscar and passed by an old man walking his teacup yorkie. He looked at Oscar, cocked his head, and raised an eyebrow (the man, not the dog. I think the dog tinkled on himself).

Oscar didn't seem to notice.

Last week, my teenage daughters had some friends over. They walked in the house and looked at Oscar running toward them, "Goo!" one of them shouted. "What is that thing?"

It's an Oscar.

And he's large.