After living her entire life as a Carolina Tarheel, our beagle mutt is headed for D.C. I don’t know whether to cry or clap for joy.

My then-twelve-year-old son picked Belle out of a forlorn litter of pups, found in the woods near Raleigh by someone who chose to remain anonymous. That was the story we heard from the vet clinic and we swallowed it in one fast gulp, like a fat pill hidden in a hot dog. Belle’s doe-like brown eyes pleaded “take me,” and her distressing life as an orphan kicked our EMS response into red alert. “We’re here, Belle,” we whispered. “Everything’s going to be all right now. You’re safe with us.”