The dog is dead. Long live the dog(s)?

While away on a short family holiday in Edinburgh this week I had the sad task of taking our old dog, who was suffering from cancer and other ailments, to the vet to be put to sleep. I volunteered because Him Indoors was much more attached to her than I was - or so I thought. However I found it very distressing anyway and all six of us cried a fair few tears that day. She was a great old thing and gave us 14 years' unconditional love.

Next morning? The kids were discussing getting a new dog, possibly two (the theory being they'd be company for each other) and most of the rest of the week was spent coming up with possible names for these Potential Puppies. This seemed very disrespectful to have moved on so quickly, but children are like that. However, before we left the caravan site we were staying at, the kids made what could only be described as a kind of shrine to poor old Chloe, which looked exactly like a grave and led to us then having to go and explain to the wardens before we left that the dog was in fact left at the vet for cremation and was not in fact buried, without permission, under the tree in their woodland!

Incidentally suggestions for the names for the Potential Puppies are welcome. We may get two black labrador bitches or one black and one brown. Current suggestions (not all serious) are: Treacle and Toffee, Jack and Vera, Bennett and Darcy, Cheese and Onion, Mrs Thompson and Mrs Wallace (the head and deputy head at the kids' school)...