I have a beautiful dog. He’s half American Mastiff, quarter Great Dane and quarter Rottweiler. He’ll be 8 years old January 29th. He’ll have been in my care for eight years this February 29th.
My sister gave him to me as a late Valentine’s Day present. She, her husband and their daughter were living in Oklahoma at the time. They were planning a move to Connecticut where her husband had gotten a job designing submarines. Since we didn’t know when we would get to see them again my mother and I made the eight hour drive to visit them for a weekend. My sister was eight months pregnant at the time. (I didn’t realize how many times the number 8 showed up in this story until now.)
Previous to this my sister had called to ask if we wanted a puppy. She had a friend whose dog had a litter. We decided it might be a good idea to have a nice, protective yard dog so we said yes.
We had only been there an hour when the puppy was given to us. My mother fell in love with him immediately. I, on the other hand, was determined to not get too involved since I felt I really didn’t have the time to devote to a pet.
I still wasn’t quite sure I was ready for another dog. My childhood dog, a St. Bernard, died only a few years before.
But this puppy was so tiny, adorable and full of spirit. He had a thing about ankles. My sister couldn’t walk across the living room without him attacking her feet and ankles. I wanted to name him Achilles because of this but my mother suggested letting my dad name him since he didn’t have any input in getting the dog in the first place. It was her way of letting dad feel a part of it all.
That night everyone went to bed and I slept on the couch. The puppy was placed in a large box with food and water. But it kept standing up on its hind legs with front paws on the edge of the box whining to be let out. So I let him sleep on the couch with me. He curled up on my feet and snored away. From that moment I was hooked.
The next day we drove home. On the entire drive he never once had an ‘accident’ in my truck, even though we were prepared for it. He always waited until we stopped.
My dad took one look at him and named him Lucifer. His name has been shortened to Luci for the most part, except when he’s in trouble.
He’s been a great friend and companion all these years. Very playful. Very mischeivous. Even though he is now nearly 3’ tall and weighs about 200lbs he still has a thing about attacking feet and ankles.
He is surprisingly good with children. He’ll let my 3 year old niece do whatever she wants to him. She calls him Lufi.
He’s very dramatic. He sighs, huffs and pouts. If he’s mad at me he’ll refuse to have anything to do with me and seems to make it obvious he’s ignoring me.
I’m sure it’s obvious I love my dog.
Tell me about your pets. Anything you want to share.
). I almost always wake up with Tiger, especially since during the night he’ll crank in my face so that he can curl up with me just the way he wants. I swear he talks to me. I know when he’s hungry, when he wants to go out, when he wants a lap. Poor guy only has two teeth left.
