It was one year ago this week that we first brought Loki home.
That’s hard to believe.
I remember very clearly the scene at the animal shelter. It was very nearly closing time on a Saturday, so as soon as we decided we wanted to bring Loki home, the staff rushed us through the adoption process. One staffer took him into their clinic to get his shots and a microchip; someone else took us to the front office to fill out the requisite paperwork.
When they brought him out front for us, there was a family with small children in the room. They were fascinated by this huge animal, but frightened, too. He was… BIG. And filthy. And I wasn’t completely sure he was friendly. Sure, he seemed friendly, but what if he wasn’t? Want if he turned out to be mean? I started wondering what we’d done.
As we walked out into the summer heat, I have to admit I was wondering if it was too late to change our minds. My husband has admitted he was thinking pretty much the same thing. When I saw this huge dog standing next to our car, I wasn’t sure we’d be able to get him in. In fact, I was certain we WOULDN’T be able to get him in there if he didn’t want to go. With the cloud of gnats that surrounded him and the way he was starting to drool… And the way he’d scared those kids… Uhhhh…
I suspect it was pure stubbornness that kept me going. I didn’t want to be wrong, so I just kept going.
All through the wretched weeks that followed, I held firmly to the dream that this creature could someday be one awesome pet.
When he became deathly ill, I held on to that idea. When he started feeling better and turned into a wild dog, I held on. When children cried at my doorstep because they feared encountering my big, frantically friendly furball, I wavered. When his constant mouthing made even my own daughter a bit afraid, I snatched onto the last shreds of that dream… but didn’t let go. If he had meant to hurt her, he would have, I told myself.
When he snarled at me, knocked me on my can and generally scared the daylights out of me, I dug in one last time — and started training myself.
A little research confirmed that some dogs really do growl convincingly when they’re having fun. Turns out that’s what Loki does. He thought we were having a whole lot of fun.
I had to make it clear to him that I was NOT having fun. That wasn’t easy.
We had to teach ourselves before we could teach Loki. Together, my family worked at it. Loki worked, too. He’s big and he’s young, but ultimately, he’s a very bright dog who loves us and wants to please us.
And now, we have our Loki. He’s awesome.
He’s well-groomed, well-behaved, healthy and very, VERY cuddly. I love to bury my face in his soft, luxurious fur. He’s like the biggest, softest teddy bear ever, come to life. Unless he somehow gets the idea you’re messing with one of his people: then watch out. I would not want to be you.
He’s a teddy bear, a tough guy, and very much a ladies’ man. (Thank heavens we had him neutered as soon as he was healthy enough for surgery.)
He barrels toward me full-speed, skids to a stop, sits and daintily licks peanut butter from my finger. He greets me at the door, sleeps at my feet and makes sure my life is never boring.
He is my Loki, and I love him.
Growls and yips