So as to the man's best friend question left hanging under the creaking rusty poetic license in the mildewy mysterious Celtic-Druidic-Bardic night air -- which is it going to be, then? Our Elmer or the wife?
I have spent nearly all afternoon turning this vexing problem over in my head. The only way to resolve this thorny issue would be to take the trip the third time and see where it leads. One day...