Appetizing restaurants, offbeat shopping and inviting stretches of beach. A bottle of SPF15 body spray, the latest Diane McKinney-Whetstone novel, and I'm in heaven right here on Earth.

But for the first time in five years, I couldn't fully relax. I kept hearing a hard-to-place plaintive cry.

By Day 3, I knew I had only one choice - to cut my vacation short.

My baby needed me.

No, not my 14-year-old, who was with us. Nor the 21-year-old or 19-year-old, both of whom have declared independence from us and family vacations.

(Sense my resentment here? The ungrateful-kids rant is a whole other column.)

No, only one thing could drag me away from my chill-out retreat.

The cry of Angel, my 5-month-old . . . puggle.

I never thought I'd become one of them. You know, those people who let their pets run their lives. Who sleep with them, talk about them all the time, who, OK, cut their vacations short.

But I just couldn't bear the thought of my furry baby languishing in that cold, steel cage at the vet's boarding (read: kennel) one more day. I couldn't shake the look she gave us when we dropped her off: those sad, doe eyes and head quizzically tilted ever so slightly, as if to ask, "Why, Mommy, why?"

With Angelic thoughts running through my head and heart, I high-tailed it out of paradise.

Angelmania

I've got Angel's blanket laid out in the backseat of my car, along with a couple of her squeak toys and some apple treats.

I'm even considering a doggy car seat.

I pass up the nail salon in favor of the dog park these days, where I discuss doggy day-care, vegan kibble, and the finer points of doggy HMOs with other "parents" as we watch the "kids" play.

Speaking of play, Angel's already had two play dates, including one pool party.

Can that puppy paddle!

You'd have to know me to see just how nutty this is.

Dog people? I used to call them crazed, unreasonable animal-loving zealots.

Don't get me wrong. While living in California, we owned a black Lab. But care amounted to getting Cammie her rabies shot and feeding her twice a day. Home was the backyard, not the house.

I guess nowadays that would be considered neglect.

Pre-Angel, I was always skeptical about animal-human intimacy.

I chided my girlfriend incessantly - "Is administering hundreds of dollars' worth of dialysis to your old, ailing cat really worth it?" And I couldn't resist giving a "you've-got-to-be-kidding-me" smirk to my still-grieving friend at church who, a year later, still wears a necklace with his late, great German shepherd's tooth encased in a memorial charm.

People before pets

When everybody wondered if Michael Vick's poor, abused pit bulls would get another chance, I was concerned about whether Vick would get another chance. Two years in prison seemed inhumane - especially since people abusers were walking the streets.

And, I'd rant, there's something wrong with a world where people bark over animal testing while putting their tail between their legs as they let loved ones - of the human variety - waste away in subpar nursing homes.

Yeah, that was me. Still is, to some degree.

Though I'll never become a card-carrying member of PETA, Angel has taught me that unconditional love can truly exist between animals and humans - and that kind of love can actually make us more human.

In three short months, her sweet exuberance has brought our whole family closer together and given this almost-empty-nester a new baby to nurture.

Did I mention Angel's got a curly pug tail, floppy beagle ears, and darkened eyes that look like she's wearing permanent eyeliner?

People who would normally just be passersby stop me all the time to tell me how cute she is. Riding in the car with her head plopped out of the window, she stopped traffic once.

But I don't want all the compliments to go to her tawny head, so I'm not beyond giving her a little human advice.

"Angel," I tell her, "you can't make it on looks alone. Looks will fade."

Advice any loving mother would give.