I’m just about ready to drop some money on a mystery: What kind of dog is my dog? Or is she even a dog? Because she’s quite peculiar. Not in a bad way. There’s peculiar bad — like what you say when you’re trying to be polite: “I must say, GULP!, this apple and sausage pie is, you know, peculiar!” And then there’s just plain peculiar … the true definition … like “what the hell is that thing?” That’s my dog, Lily.