His name was Randall.

Of all the pets I've loved before, none will take his place.

For those of you unfamiliar with this well-told tale, I adopted this black lab mix off death row at the Philadelphia SPCA with a mere 10 minutes to spare in December of 1990.

His life in the six months before the arriving at the shelter was on the mean streets. He came into their care with bruises that had yet to fully heal when I took him home.

He lived always ready to defend himself, or those of us in his pack, but willing to show the unconditional love that made him -- like many dogs -- special.

If he had not been gathered up and brought into the shelter by ambulance, a likely fate would have been as a bait dog for those who somehow justify their existence by raising fighting dogs.

For all I know, that may have already been the case and he had escaped.

Regardless, he didn't have to worry about all that anymore. Until he passed away at the age of 16 1/2 (really, really old for a dog), he was treated like the prince he was.

Naming him Randall was a natural. Randall Cunningham, in 1990, was in the midst of his best season with my beloved Eagles.

It was the start of a tradition of naming pets, canine or feline, after Eagles' quarterbacks.

I never thought there would ever be a bitter irony in that.

Now, as I find myself faced with a moral dilemma, the irony is so sick and twisted that I'm locked in moral wresling match.

The Eagles -- in whom I've invested time, money, emotion and devotion -- have signed disgraced quarterback Michael Vick, whose name was once synonymous with overpaid superstar and is now better known as the athlete who recklessly oversaw a deadly dog-fighting ring from his pocket pager and cell phone and, from time to time, in person.

That tricky term "moral dilemma" is one I've used before, but now I realize it was with the reckless disregard of a preteen skateboarder zigging and zagging through crosstown traffic at rush hour.

I don't know if I have truly been met with one.

Last summer, with the not-so-subtle urging of hospital personnel unimpressed with the fine print in my father's insurance policy, we were faced with the decision of keeping him alive for a while with no quality of life or opting for "comfort care."

Fortunately, my father was lucid enough to make his decision.

But that was more of a head-versus-heart scenario anyway.

When our long-held moral stances are put to the test, the game changes.

Decisions that are out of our hands leave us with toughest choices.

It was just the other day, while catching up with someone from high school on Facebook, I joked that my personal Holy Trinity -- not counting family, of course -- consisted of Bruce Springsteen, "The Sopranos" and the Eagles.

But what if Bruce Springsteen suddenly donned a Hitler mustache, a swastika and starting goose-stepping around the stage?

What if it was revealed that the makers of "The Sopranos" were mocking us with their scripts?

And what if the Eagles -- so desperate to bring hard-core, long-suffering fans like myself that elusive Super Bowl crown -- signed a person whose inhuman and illegal treatment of animals made him less than human in my eyes?

I have a deep love for animals that began well before Randall's adoption during the first week I was "on my own" in the world.

My wife and I have already begun sharing that with our 2 1/2-year-old daughter, Sofia, taking her to zoos and reserves whenever possible. She sleeps with a growing collection of stuffed animals.

She will surely carry the torch for us, as she already has a special bond with our two cats -- Donovan (as in McNabb) and Ty (as in Detmer).

Randall died before she was born, but his spirit lives in a house that remains open to four-legged creatures with tails.

It's also a house where our schedule from September to Super Bowl Sunday revolves around the Eagles.

But what kind of example will I be setting as a diehard Eagles' fan yelling to put Vick in the game to ignite the offense?

If I could give you an answer now, I'd only be lying.

I get pretty emotional once my game face is on.

It's all or nothing at all.

I had a dog like that, too.

His name was Randall.

Of all the pets I've loved before, none will take his place.