So, to begin to explain the current situation I am in…I must first explain to you the fuzz pictured above (circa 2003). To catch you up to speed – he is much fatter, older, and grayer now. With a helluvalotta more personality than ever before. His name is Lucky. That name came about due to a lack of creativity in the mind of a ten year old when told she must pick a name that begins with an L. The reason that his name had to start with L is simple: to register a dog in Germany, you combined his parents first names and his sire’s name began with an L. I can’t tell you his whole name because I’ve been unable to pronounce it and have thus, forgotten it. Lucky was the first word that began with an L that we said out loud that the then-two-month-old responded to. That is how a not-so-lucky dog got named ‘Lucky’.
I guess you are now wondering the answer to the following question: Why is he in America if his parents are from Germany?
Well, to answer truthfully, the question itself is false. His sire is a world champion purebred German Shepherd who was born, bred, and shown in Germany. He won many show titles. His mother, however, is from Russia where she also showed and won many awards. His daddy won and won. Then one day while being shipped, he managed to get out of his crate. Unfortunately for him (or not), there was a bunch of kielbasa in the shipping container next to him. He gorged himself until the handlers finally got to the destination and unloaded him. By then, he was so full – he was on the verge of death itself. They brought him to a veterinary clinic where his stomach was pumped. He never quite got back to his previous self after that and was put to stud. Where he met Lucky’s mom. And this is where Lucky’s story starts. Just so you know, his dad was sold to breeders in Japan where last I heard he was living the sweet life of a retired champ.
As for Lucky’s mom, she had a different story. After a normal gestation period she gave birth to her litter. My family had at that time relocated from Brooklyn to bumblefuck, USA (otherwise known as Westport, CT). To make amends to their very pissed off daughter who had to leave behind her friends, the city, and an apartment not completely surrounded by trees, her dad decided to get her a dog. Her years of nagging were about to pay off!
Lucky was taken from his mom just shortly before the two month mark in order not to be detained by quarantine. He traveled in the airplane with his new master in a leather bag, neither defecating nor urinating the entire 10 hour trip from Moscow. At less than two months old!
Everyone always makes animals out to be the ‘inferior species’. I would like to take this moment to point out that this dog was two months old and that a baby of equivalent age (or even older) would be incapable of this task. EVEN MORE THAN THIS, a baby would fail to even realize the concept of ‘holding it in’. 1-0, to the animals.
Back to the story: The airplane landed in JFK where Lucky was released onto the cold tile of the airport terminal. There he did what everyone has done upon their first taste of freedom in the USA: he took a dump of disproportional size to his tiny body. Following this, he was driven home to me, where I was to lay eyes on him for the first time under a lawn chair hiding from the heat of the sun. Shortly thereafter would follow the horrible story of his naming that I have already told you.
Anyways, this is just the beginning of a ten and a half year (well, eleven on July 27th) saga. However, I will have to share the rest of my secrets at some later point in time – because that devilish fiend inside of me, eating away at my insides, is telling me to go fuzz my machine. And I am at it’s mercy. So off I go, to fuzz that giant fuzzy beast.
