So we're three weeks into the new dog, and he's pretty much fit seamlessly into our lives. His name did turn out to be a bit of a sticking point, though. Personally, I was fine with Chaucer. It's a good literary name. David didn't care for it, though, and he was still feeling pretty burnt over the situation with the puppy-who-wasn't-to-be. Naming is a serious business around here.
So after a bit of *ahem* gentle discussion, we finally decided on a truncated version of his existing name that wouldn't land us in divorce court. Of course, I've been spelling it Chauce, and David's spelling it Choss, so it's just as well the dog himself can't spell. Maybe we should go with a phonetic alphabet and spell it चॉस्. Half the time I call him BigBoy, anyway.
All debates aside, he's settled in phenomenally quickly. He loves to walk the neighborhood loop, loves to ride in the car, and gets excited when he sees the harness for either or those. He gets along well with the kitties, gets excited when I come home from work, loves to be cuddled, wants to sleep between us when we watch TV in the evening, and loves having his teeth brushed before bed (poultry-flavored toothpaste - YUM!). In short, he's decided we belong to him, and vice versa.