The doctor's prescription worked like magic. Within a few weeks, we brought a home a little bichon frise we named Max.  Within hours of getting him, kids flocked to our home much to the chagrin of my husband. "Oh great, Gene! Now look what we've done!"

Several years later, when our younger daughter, Emily, was diagnosed with a learning disability and experiencing depression and social issues, we were at loss about what to do. That is until opportunity came wagging; we received an email from a neighbor informing us that her good friend  was looking for a home for a sweet little cockapoo puppy. The puppy was "90% trained" and needed to be in a home with another dog. I was captivated by the puppy's photo and her name -- Candy. Clearly, you don't name a dog Candy that isn't sweet, I thought.

I approached my husband with what I thought was a brilliant idea. "Mike, I think we should get this dog for Em. We did it for Katie and it really helped her. You can't do something for one and not the other. I watched enough Brady Bunch episodes to see what that did to Jan."

"I'm not sure, Gene," he responded. "Do we really want two dogs? Sounds like a lot of work."

But as is usually the case, I was able to  convince him. "OK, we can get her. Just please let go of my leg."

Others weren't as open to the idea.

"Are you nuts?" asked my tactful sister, Patty.

"Don't do it!" said our good friends who had recently taken the two-dog plunge. "Your house will smell like a horse farm."

But desperate to put a smile on our sad daughter's face, we moved forward with our plans and contacted the owner to "close the deal."

The owner was very pleased and arranged a home visit to see if we were suitable for Candy. My husband was frantic. "Hide the meds, Gene!" he shouted, clearing the countertop with his arm.  "She'll think we're the crazy house."

Apparently, we passed the test; the owner agreed to let us have Candy.  "If it doesn't work out, let me know and I'll pay you back. She's a great dog, but with my divorce, I just can't keep her."

"Mike, did you hear that? She's offering a money-back guarantee."

"Gene, she gave us her for free. Don't you think that's strange?"

During her first week, Candy was a lovable dream dog. She was very smart, too, as she would ring a little bell by the door every time she had to do her business. We were stunned, since our dog Max had a different method of notifying us -- pooping on the floor.

After two weeks, Candy began to change. She grew at a rapid pace with her legs growing longer by the day.  "Who's her father, Yao Ming?" asked my husband.

She also began chewing. It started off small - a flip flop or 10 here and there.  Some pens. The Fed Ex man. Then it escalated to flat iron and TV cords, causing us to make changes around the house. "Gene, do me a favor and keep Candy away from the refrigerator. I'm afraid she'll eat it."

We also noticed some disturbing changes in our sweet dog, Max. "Mike, is it just me or does Max try to run away every time you open the door?"

To make matters worse, Candy started ringing the bell constantly to go out. "Great, just our luck, we get the Avon lady for a dog."

She also would bark loudly every time something went by on the street. Emily, who has extreme sensitivities to sounds, was quite upset by this as my husband and I discovered one day when we found her in the middle of the kitchen blocking her ears and crying, "Make her stop! I can't take it!"

"Gene, just so I'm clear, we got this dog to make Emily feel better, right?"

"Yes, Mike. That was the plan."

We tried calling the previous owner for help. "Mike it's the strangest thing. It's says her phone number is disconnected."

While we were getting increasingly stressed about Candy, our oldest daughter, Katie, was growing amazingly close to her. She loved having two dogs, which made quite an impression at school. "All the kids think Candy is so cute. They want to meet her."

When we mentioned the idea of sending Candy back, she was traumatized. "If you get rid of Candy, you'll have to get rid of me! You can't give up on a family member just because they're not perfect."

Point. Match.

That was nearly nine months ago. Today, Candy is still with us and up to her old habits.

"Mommy, my teacher is never gonna believe my dog ate my homework."

"Listen Em, if the mortgage company believed she ate the mortgage, your teacher can believe you."

Yes, life with Candy is definitely harder. But the last thing we want to do is have another child depressed. We just have to suck it up and deal with the consequences of our decision. After all, life is about managing the unexpected.

"Mike, did you ever think we'd have a therapy dog?"

"No Gene, I had no idea we would need therapy because of a dog."

Do you have a pet that makes you need therapy? Tell us about it.