Poop + Brokenness

My dog and I are more alike than I care to admit. (Though here I am admitting it, so I guess I've proven myself to be a stretcher-of-the-truth.)

She gets excited about breakfast, rolling around in the grass, and loving on little kiddos. She craves affection (though pretends she doesn't), is a fierce protector of the people and places she calls home, and when she likes you she'll let you know. She is stubborn, and odd, and definitely (definitely, definitely) broken.

(She also walks funny and eats her own poop, while I consider my gait fairly normal and would never, ever...well, that's just too gross to even discuss further.)

I've had Lucy for six years this July, and she is certainly, well, special. I fell in love with her immediately, though I don't think she's necessarily the kind of dog who's charm comes across right away. Perhaps that's why I feel such a kinship with her.

On the surface she's indifferent, jarring (that bark!), and a little intimidating (again, that bark!). She doesn't exhibit typical dog behavior, especially when meeting people for the first time, and she rarely, rarely stands still long enough to let someone pet her. If she does decide you're okay, though, she'll love you forever.

Number Five: LUCY. My human-sitting, projectile-vomiting, poop-eating pup. It is perfect that she is mine.



The Story of Lucy
In 2003, when I went to the Humane Society for the first time, I knew I'd be leaving with a dog. I had already put it off for years, my defenses were low, and there were hundreds awaiting adoption - how could I not? Lucy was less than two months old at the time, in a kennel with her brother, and huddled, shaking, in the back corner. The brother was bouncy and excited and licking my hand through the chainlink, but Lucy held back and watched, unwilling to move from her spot.

It was clear she'd already been knocked around a bit, and I knew immediately she was the one. I told the volunteer I wanted to hold her, and gently carried her outside to the small play area. She perked up immediately and was especially interested in eating the ice chips I had in my hand, though she never exhibited typical dog behavior. I fell in love with her right then, as her tiny puppy teeth scraped the palm of my hand and her little tail twitched ever so slightly, threatening a wag.

I reluctantly handed her back over so she could be given shots and spayed, filled out some paperwork, and couldn't wait to come back in a few days to pick her up. When I did, I was met with some slightly disturbing news: she had almost died during surgery due to a bad heart. She was doing okay, but they didn't have high hopes that she would live very long and asked if I wanted to choose a different dog.

I said no, absolutely no, and took her home.