#and have multiple times been cornered by off leash dogs. it's fucking scary!!

[silver-grasp]

The only thing keeping me from just flat-out hating dogs and dog owners is the handful of people I know with well-trained dogs. I've met like two dogs I like and one that's tolerable and that's the only thing keeping me normal lol

[scarofthewind]

Michael x (fem) reader who finds Michael injured and decides to help heal him? Resulting him to become her silent ( stalking) protector? Bonus points if she is an artist or something and he leaves little messages in her sketchbook lol

A/N: Hope you enjoy! This is G for the masterlist under MichaelWarnings: None

You were walking your dog down the street the night you found him. A tall, silent, masked man, covered in blood and hurt very badly. You didn’t even think before you ran over to him, asking if he was okay. Michael was startled to see you, a young woman with her dog that was sniffing him, concerned with his well being. 

“My name is (Y/N), my house is just around the corner, do you think you can make it there? Do I need to call an ambulance?” You asked, watching as he shook his head quickly at the end of your sentence. Taking in a breath, you nodded. “No hospital then. C’mon, before you bleed out.”

Michael walked behind you while you lead him to your house, your dog happily marching in front of you. He memorized the number on your house, as well as the street name and what the outside looked like. As you let your dog off its leash and walked inside, Michael immediately noticed your dozens of canvas’ some painted and some not. 

“Here, come sit down.” You said in the kitchen, pulling out a chair and setting an aid kit on the table. Michael shut your front door and walked over, careful not to touch any of the paintings. 

You sprawled all the contents of the aid kit on the table and put some latex gloves on. “Could you maybe, remove the top half of your uniform? The wound is there.” You pointed to the multiple slits in the fabric. 

Michael stared at you blankly, not moving a muscle. “I won’t be able to stop the bleeding if I can’t get to the wound.” You said. Michael didn’t say anything, but unbuttoned the first few buttons on the uniform top, gritting his teeth when he moved. 

“Thank goodness it’s not that bad.” Quickly, you started dabbing at the two large stab wounds in his chest and side. “So how did you get these exactly? And why the mask?” 

The silence was what you received. “Can you at least tell me your name?” More silence was all you needed before you stopped asking questions. You focused on stitching up the wounds and disinfecting them, before letting him button his uniform up. 

“Well, take it easy out there. If you need anything, just stop…by.” You paused, having only turned away for a moment but when you went to face him, he was gone. Your front door was open and you walked over to close it, locking it as well. 

Your dog barked behind you and you looked at it, your eyes locking onto the painting across the room with a name: Michael Myers.

*

It didn’t take you long to realize that you’d helped a serial killer; not that it bothered you. He didn’t kill you or even try to after all. However, you didn’t have time to worry about Michael right now because you were busy trying to shake off a co-worker from work who’d been pestering you lately. 

“My house is just a few blocks away, I’m fine walking by myself.” You insisted, shaking off his perverted gaze. 

“There’s a killer about. I can’t let you go home alone.” He smiled and you laughed bitterly. A sudden blow of air from behind you made you have the urge to turn around. “What is it?” He asked.

Your eyes scanned the sidewalk and you caught a glimpse of a white mask, moving behind a tree not too far from you. “Nothing.” You said, continuing to walk home.

“So when can I take you out? We could go eat, then go to a hotel.” Your co-worker smirked, trying to grab your ass. 

His fingertips didn’t even come close to touching your jeans as a large hand grabbed his wrist. “Back off.” 

“Excuse me? Who the hell are you?” He growled staring up at the unmasked man you could only assume was Michael. 

“Someone who doesn’t like seeing other’s anywhere near his interests. Now fuck off.” You smiled, waving bye to your perverted co-worker as he practically ran down the street. 

“You give off a scary vibe, Michael. It’s almost killer-like.” You said, looking him in the eyes and watching as he rolled his eyes. “Thank you for protecting me though. I was afraid he’d try something before I even made it to the front porch.” 

“I watch you.” Michael blurted out when you both started waling to your house. 

“I figured. You shrugged, spotting your house a few yards down. “You can come over sometime if you want. Its just me, my dog and my artwork.” 

Michael watched you out of the corner of his eyes, silently taking you up on your offer. For some reason he found you amazing and he often found himself outside your home, watching you paint. He wanted to know you more, be with you, and he’d do everything in his power to get what he wanted. 

[mwolf0epsilon]

DBH - A Dog's Purpose

I have been meaning to write a drabble for Roky for quite some time now, and honestly this came out a lot sadder than I initially intended. Warning for animal abuse and a child's death!

[[MORE]]

    When he was created, it was with a purpose: To serve and protect his master, just as all good dogs must do.

His eyes open and he stands upon a platform with machines that are very strange, and that reach down for him to give him things.

Give him his paws, his tail, his fur, and a black collar with a bright blue mark on it and very strange symbols that form a line of odd shapes.

He doesn't know what they mean, but he understands the creators who give him orders.

 “Zitten.”

He sits as told, ears perked to attention and eyes focusing on the larger of the three two-legs who hold strange flat things in their paws, pressing their extended wiry fingers of their equally flat paws against the objects.

 “Staan.”

Another simple command. He stands and waits, watching the trio of creators as they turn their attention back to their held things.

He sniffs the air. There's no discernable smell other than plastic, metal and the scent of two-legs. Of human.

He briefly wonders why he doesn't have a smell of his own.

 “Kom hier.”

He thinks of those odd paws of theirs, and how carefully they use them to touch the flat things. Wonders how nice it'd feel if those spindly fingers ran through his fur and scratched behind his ears.

He surges forward far too eagerly.

 “Blijven!” It's not the tallest, the one who's been giving orders, that spits out the command. One of the smaller ones has backed away and called off his previous order, much to the annoyance of the others.

 “Waar was dat voor?” The second smallest, a female from the pitch of her voice, asks the other who seems shaken up.

 “Het zou aanvallen!” The man cries out.

The tallest groans before smacking the other with the flat thing he holds. He is the alpha, the leader, the master of this group. He should pay attention to him and not the others.

 “Idioot! Het was de instructies correct volgen!”

 “Je hebt niet gezien wat ik de mens heb gezien, soms gaan deze verdomde dingen ballistisch!” The smaller male retorts, clearly unhappy with the master. That's not good, not good at all! Humans are so odd…

 “Dit is een veilige en gecontroleerde omgeving en de defecte worden altijd verwijderd. Je hebt niets om bang voor te zijn.” The female tries to comfort the smaller male, but their alpha interjects.

 “Als hij de test opnieuw verpest, zal hij zeker iets te vrezen hebben!”

They turn their attention back to him, and his ears twitch as he stares back. He blinks twice before sitting and wagging his tail.

He wants to please the master.

The female hums curiously before pressing her fingers against the flat thing again, while the smaller male fidgets nervously. The alpha takes charge once more.

 “Spreken.”

He wags his tail even more as he eagerly barks. He's itching to run to them and beg for their affection, but he has to be good and obey.

That's his purpose in life after all.

 “De staart kwispelen en gretigheid is zorgwekkend, maar het accepteert toch bestellingen, dus ik zou het zeggen en de anderen zijn klaar om te worden verzonden naar Amerika.” The female says calmly as she puts away the flat thing she'd been messing with. The others do the same.

The alpha stares at him, before looking at his subordinates.

 “Een gretige waakhond is beter dan een ongehoorzame.” The alpha looks back at him, and then points to the side. He looks, and sees many more like him. More dogs that stand still like statues. “Ga daarheen.”

He complies and, as soon as he steps in line, he's put into a dark, scary and very tight box.

The darkness is so blinding that he can't help lay down and whine pitifully when the world around him shakes and moves and makes noise that he can't see.

The three creators never said he was good. Maybe this is his punishment.

    When he next opens his eyes, and he doesn't remember falling asleep, he's no longer in the dark box, but in a clearer one set up next to two other dogs. One is a pitbull, the other is a doberman pinscher.

He blinks the grogginess out of his eyes and tries to sniff but can't smell anything.

The other two don't look at him, instead focusing on the place they were put on display.

It's not like the first place he's been to, but it certainly is shiny and strange.

There are so many of the odd shapes and symbols that are on his collar that he feels a little dizzy, but the colors and sounds! They're enticing to him! Especially when he can see humans coming and going.

He notices that there are humans in boxes like theirs, which is very weird.

 Why are the humans like that? He wonders aloud, to which he gets a loud snort from the pitbull next to him.

 You're new, aren't you? The pitbull keeps still, eyes glued to the front of the shiny place.

 Of course he is, the shipment only just arrived from Belgium. The doberman is also still staring out at the front. He wonders if he should do that too. He does, if only to fit in with them, but can't help wag his tail whenever a human passes by.

The ones in the boxes aren't moving either.

 They're not human. The pitbull's LED shifts to yellow very briefly before returning to blue.

 They're not? But how can that be? He's confused now. They certainly look like humans!

 Oh boy, we got us a really fresh one...I bet you still think you're a real dog, don't you? The pitbull snorts and the doberman's LED shifts to yellow before she looks at them both and growls low in warning.

The pitbull quiets down his loud thoughts, and the doberman looks back at the front and ignores them from that moment onwards.

He's very confused. He is a dog, and those are humans.

Humans with LEDs, just like theirs.

The confusion doesn't go away, not even when a big gruff looking man walks into the store and starts asking about getting a guard dog.

He wags his tail excitedly while the human with the LED explains their purpose to the man, and then tells him things he can't quite understand but knows must mean he's wanted.

He's out of his box and put on a leash before his new master takes him with him out the door.

He doesn't catch the sad look in the doberman's eyes, nor does he know that this big gruff man has come to this store multiple times to buy other dogs just like him.

All he can think of is pleasing the master and being good.

    The master takes him to a place that is bigger and spookier than the last two places he’s been. The building is surrounded by a fence, and there are trucks and many boxes full of things he knows must be important, if the master needs a big strong dog to protect them.

Because the master, while tall and rough looking with his deep growly voice and hard eyes, isn't strong or fast enough to defend such a big place all on his own.

The master needs a good dog to do such an important job. He wants to be good for his master. Yes he does.

 “Ok you plastic mutt, register your name.” the master prompts and he perks up and looks up eagerly. A name! He'll have a name of his own! “From now on, you answer to Killer, you got that?”

The name registers, but he can't help frown just a bit. That doesn't sound right…

But...

If the master calls him that, then he should cherish it. It's his given name after all. His very first present.

 “Right, you gonna keep intruders off the perimeter. You see anyone approach the fence that don't have a uniform like this, you bark. You see anyone climb over the fence, you attack.”

Attack…? That didn't sound very nice.

 “You see anyone that's fucking with the merch, you fuck ‘em up bad. The bosses keep fuckin’ nagging that supplies are going missing, and one single biocomponent or thirium bag that's gone is 10 dollars docked from my fucking paycheck.” The master instructs, ranting in a low angry tone that makes him nervous. “If you fuck up, you'll be punished just like the rest of the mutts, you got that?”

He whines and the man smiles a very scary smile. He doesn't like how many teeth he's showing.

 “Good dog. Get to fucking work!”

He's confused and frightened, but the praise makes him relax.

The master says he's good if he does as he's told, so then his orders are to be followed.

It's his purpose in life, to please the master, no matter what the cost may be.

So he obeys and suffers for it.

    For the good part of five years of his existence, there isn't much to life other than his orders and the big scary place with all the important stuff he's supposed to protect.

Each day and night he roams the perimeter, from one corner to another, sniffs and scans the fence for activity. If anyone who doesn't look like the master or the other workers approaches, he lunges at them from behind the fence and lets out bellowing barks that scare them off.

He licks the drool off his muzzle and resumes his patrols, stopping only when he is called.

He doesn't like his orders, doesn't like that he's grown used to tasting the two types of blood that exist in this world. Doesn't like that the blue blood tastes good when it comes out of whoever he bites.

Because it isn't always intruders.

The master brings him rougher looking dogs to train his attacks. Tells him they're bad dogs and useless and that he's bigger, better, stronger and good. The others don't fight much, don't last long, and honestly he tries to be quick just so they don't cry for too long.

Once the master brought the pitbull and the doberman from the other place.

They're worse off than he is, covered in cuts and missing so much skin that he sees white underneath. The pitbull is thorn to shreds after sneering at him and calling him a bad dog.

He's not bad, he's doing good by obeying. The master says he's good!

The doberman watches him sadly and accepts her fate. It's harder to kill her, she wasn't mean to him, she wasn't mean to anyone like the cynical pitbull.

He does so anyway, makes her’s a quicker death so she doesn't suffer.

The master gives him blue blood and a rough metal thing to gnaw on, to sharpen his teeth.

The master says he's good, but he's starting to doubt he is. He doesn't feel too good.

Still he continues following orders. A dog's purpose is an important one to follow.

His purpose is to kill, so he does.

But one day, this all changes.

    It's the middle of the night and it's storming heavily when it happens. He's not the pristine clean pup he was when the master first chose him. His fur is rougher and messier, and there are plenty of scars from his fights with other dogs and intruders. He's always been big, but now he looks just as scary as the place he protects. Looks like a Killer.

His want for the master's praise and love is what keeps him going, even when doubt and anguish is all he's ever really known.

He patrols outside, unbothered by the heavy rain or thunder, and watches the fences and trucks as intently as he can.

He's just completed the 105th round when he catches it. A whiff of an unknown scent, coming from inside the building.

An intruder has slipped by, and he growls in frustration at the stench of petrichor that blocked out the faint smell that had bypassed his sensitive nose's notice.

The master would be furious if he saw anything gone!

That wouldn't do at all.

So he crouched low and stalked towards the building, a rattly growl in his chest and threatening to spill from his wet chops.

He needs to get rid of the intruder before they take any of the important things, so his pace is light but quick.

The scent is coming from behind one of the big boxes.

Drool streams down his mouth and makes his teeth shiny in the low light, as he rounds the corner ready to snap his jaws shut around a limb or a neck.

They never do, however, as he is met not with an adult but a small shivering little one.

    Both their eyes widen and LEDs turn to a startled yellow at the presence of one another. He's never seen a human's pup before and the child likely has never seen such a big dog like him before.

The stand there, him with his drooly mouth hanging open in an odd caricature of shock, while the drenched little one shivers and tries to calm down after being spooked.

He doesn't know what to do.

 “Puppy…?” The little one blinks tiredly, and he realised human's pups aren't out at such hours. It's dark out and very stormy, the little one shouldn't be out here on their own.

He closes his mouth, blinks a few times as he tries to figure out what to do, and startles when he feels tiny long digits against his muzzle.

The little one's hand is near his mouth and nose and their scent is stronger than before. The smell of their clothes is what he'd gotten before, because their smooth bald skin is bare of a smell that clings just like he himself doesn't have his own scent.

But the clothes...They smell of things he knows he's never smelt before, but that his thinking brain identifies.

Lemon, cinnamon, honey...Such lovely smells unlike the metalic stench of red blood, or the delicious chemical smell of the blue blood.

Smells that...

That feel like home?

He doesn't understand why, but he licks the little ones hand. A gesture of peace.

He's being bad, going against orders, but surely a little one isn't an intruder if they're only here to hide from the dark and the rain?

The little one doesn't care if he's bad though, they smile and squeal with little giggles after he gives their hand a few quick licks, and then they do something marvelous!

They pet him, touch him in a way he's only ever dreamed his master would someday do!

Gives him affection and scritches behind the ears, being mindful of the scars.

He smiles wide and yips in content before giving the child a big sloppy puppy dog kiss to the face.

He can't remember when he'd last wagged his tail this much!

 “Good doggy! Nice puppy!” The child squeals and hugs him, and he's instantly over the moon.

He's good?

Even if he's not doing as he was told?

That feels...Better somehow! Comforting even!

But it doesn't last…

    The master finds him lying on his back, with the little one giving him belly rubs and little kisses that aren't as wet as the ones he gives back, and the master is furious.

He did bad by not following orders, and bad dogs are punished. He just didn't think the master would direct his anger at a human's pup.

He howled in pain when the master kicked him onto his side, and then stomped on his ribs. The little one cried out in shock, but was thrown aside easily by the man who's trice their size.

The master calls him a bad dog, hits and kicks him several times until he bleeds blue.

The last kick hits him in the left eye, and he can't help howl when he feels something pop and a terrible burning pain in his skull. He can't open his left eye when the master gets off him, but the right one is open and he squirms and struggles to get up when he sees the master stalk towards the little one that's crying on the floor.

 “Fucking plastic piece of shit! Think you can come into my warehouse and steal from me?!”

 “I didn't take anything! I just wanted a place to stay for the night!”

He howls again when he hears the child hit the floor harder when the master kicks them. He barks and continues to holler, but the master brings his foot up and stomps on the little human's pup who's LED shines red.

The little one screams and screams and he howls at the master, begging for him to stop. To not hurt the puppy who did nothing wrong!

But he doesn't stop until the little one stops screaming. And then when the child's skin is broken apart and damaged revealing white, he takes out something that he holds. Something black and strangely shaped.

 “Fucking piece of shit, lying plastic brat.” The master growls as he points the thing at the human's pup.

There's a flash and a loud horrible bang, and then there's a hole in the little one's head, that spills blue. The LED goes dark, the little one doesn't move or make noises.

The master has never killed before, but he has just watched him slaughter a little one.

All because he'd been bad.

He feels bad, but he also feels something else: Anger.

He'd been good for the master so many times, protected the important things and the big place, fought dogs and hurt so many people who came in looking for shelter and things that they needed.

It was his purpose, but he hated it.

No more! No more!

He got onto shaky feet and ran at the master, no, the monster!

He ran and lunged and sunk his big sharp teeth in the cruel beast's neck, before tearing and ripping and shredding.

He leaves the spooky place, staggering and covered in red and blue blood.

Fur matted and stained an ugly purple.

He doesn't look back.

    He wanders for a long time, looking for a place to lay down and rest, someplace warm and safe, but can't find anywhere that isn't cold and wet.

He sees people, happy smiling people, and runs to them eagerly hoping for help. They see him and scream and run in fright.

He stops and whimpers, unsure why they are so upset with him. Continues his search and runs at the next group of people he finds, only to get yelled at and get things thrown at him.

He runs and staggers and even tumbles down a few times, but he keeps going, keeps searching until he finds an alleyway with an overturned trash can.

He lays in it, too tired and wounded to continue. Whines and whimpers pitifully as the pain of his many grievous wounds catches up with him.

A puddle of rainwater gives him a clear view of what he's become. An ugly scarred monster, rather than a nice doggy.

He's shunned for being a beast.

He thinks of the little one, the only human who's ever been nice to him, and cries louder. Howling mournfully into the night before he collapses.

He's failed his purpose, he's never going to be good enough. Never going to be loved.

He hears footsteps before he closes his one functioning eye and let's the exhaustion take him under.

When he opens it again, he's being held by someone.

They're moving quickly and the rain is still falling heavily all around them, but he can't tell much more since they've covered him with a big coat.

He sniffs tiredly.

Cinnamon, like the little one...

The smell comforts him.

He closes his eyes again.

    When he next wakes up, he's somewhere warm and fluffy. His wounds have been dressed and there are low voices.

Three distinct ones, all female.

He can see with his one eye, three ladies.

One is older, two are young, one doesn't have a smell besides the scent on her clothes.

It all smells of cinnamon like the coat.

He decides he likes this place much better than the last three.

 “You found the poor thing in the trash?” The older one asks, sounding horrified.

 “Was howling up a storm too...There was so much blood on him, I couldn't tell how bad his wounds were until I washed it all off.” the one with dark hair replied.

 “You think he was in a fighting ring?” the other younger female asks.

 “No, the collar was from a Cyberlife warehouse a few miles from here. I think he ran away after a bad scrap...”

 “I can see why...The state of the poor thing, it's absolutely shameful!”

He whines, sounding unbearably pitiful as he does so, and tries to get on his feet to go meet the human ladies.

One of his legs hurts so bad he falls down immediately, causing all of his body to ache.

The dark haired one rushes to his side and presses her paws comfortingly against his head.

 “Hey shh...It's ok big guy.” She pets him, and her touch is so soft that he practically melts against it. “That's it...Good dog. Good boy.”

He licks her hands and wags his stumpy tail eagerly, smiling up at the blue eyed lady that's being so nice to him. She thinks he's good, despite his wicked horrible appearance.

The older lady is holding his old collar in her hands, she grimaces at it.

 “Killer...what a nasty name for such a sweet thing.” she approaches, as does the other one, and lets him sniff her hand. He makes sure to lick all of their hands, makes sure to be gentle and nice to them when they are being so kind.

 “You're not a killer are you dear? Of course not…” the older one smiles sweetly at him, and then looks at the dark haired one. “What are you going to call him, Lucina dear? And don't give me that look, I know you have a name in mind.”

 “I was thinking... Ragnarok.” Lucina replied. He liked her name, it was pretty.

 “That's a pretty strong name, but at least it's not related to a video game franchise, as per family tradition.” The other girl smiled.

 “I beg to differ Zelda, I'm pretty sure Lucina is naming him after a Marvel movie.”

 “Hey, Thor Ragnarok was a good movie!”

 “Seriously? Can't we have one normal name in this family?!” Zelda exclaimed, throwing her hands up at the distasteful choice.

 “Never.” Both Lucina and the older lady grinned.

The three laugh among themselves and he wags his tail even more and yips happily at them. Their laughter is nice and warm and not scary like his old master's.

Lucina smiles down at him and pets him once more behind the ear.

 “How about that...Do you like your new name?”

It was definitely a strong word, Ragnarok, but it wasn't necessarily bad. It sounded good, even. Fitting of a big strong dog as himself.

He liked it!

 “It's a mouthful. We'll have to shorten it a bit or else it'll become a tongue twister.” Zelda pointed out.

 “Don't worry Zelda, I always think forward when it comes to these things. Ragnarok can be shortened to Roky, like Rocky Balboa!”

 “Another strong name. Nice thinking dear.” The older woman smiled while Zelda groaned.

 “Thanks nana Sophie, at least someone appreciates my naming talents!”

He thinks he'll like these new masters a lot more than he liked his old one.

They're certainly kinder and less scary, and they give him pets and belly rubs even when he doesn't look so nice and friendly.

They should hate him, because he's a bad dog.

But they don't.

They saved him!

So he decides his new purpose.

He'll repay them, do good by them and make sure they're happy and safe.

It's a job he can happily get behind, and hopefully one that won't make him kill again.

He'll never be bad like the master wanted him to be. He won't return to that terrible life.

He'll be genuinely good. For them.

The ones who make him feel safe and truly loved.

[achoirofcritters]

I would like to speak here about my Evie. In 2014, my great-grandmother, who had raised me my entire life, had a fall in the home. I transitioned into 24/7 caretaker, despite being in college at the time, and we had home-health nurses visiting every couple of days. Eventually, a case of pneumonia landed her in a prolonged hospital stay, where it eventually took its toll on her and she passed. My great-grandfather had died in a similar fashion a few years beforehand. So both of the people who had raised me were now gone. In that year, I lost the woman who had been like a mother to me, and the childhood home where I'd grown up, the only place I'd ever lived. College funds transitioned into get-a-home funds, and school got put on hold for a full-time job. I bought a house and became a home owner at 23. But grief led to some heavy depression, that I still battle off and on to this day, three years later. In November of 2014, I decided to take a trip to the Lexington Humane Society; I had a dream about puppies, I just wanted to play with dogs. See, I'd had a poorly bred miniature Australian Shepherd named Arcane who had been raised by the influences of my family; he was aggressive, had bitten me and drawn blood a couple times, and he was getting grumpier in his old age. I had wanted a dog that I trained, that had my sole influence, something I could do now that I was on my own. But I told myself... not until after Christmas. Then November, I stepped into that shelter. I saw a ball of skinny brindle bones in the corner of a kennel. Delicate, soft, sad eyes. A quiet little beastie; she never barked, never made a sound. Her kennel mate was growling and barking up a storm at us, a fussy creature named Eve, but the tiny little bully girl in the corner, named Bella at the time, never made a sound. Something about her stuck out at me, and I couldn't get her off of my mind. I had a meet-and-greet with "Bella" where her true personality shone, the timid, nervous waves melting off of her to reveal wagging tails, gentle puppy nibbles, and many kisses. A few days after meeting "Bella", I was adopting her. To me, she became Evelyn, or Evie, after the character from The Mummy. I was told a few things that her owner said when she was surrendered at 9 months old: "a lot of energy, she loves socks". "Pit bull" type dogs have three restrictions upon them at this shelter, no doubt due to the stigma of the breed, but I do agree that they're not for everyone. Evie is no more American Pit Bull Terrier than a dachshund is a corgi. But she's a blocky-headed bull breed of some sort, which is enough to condemn. We don't know her history, so all we can do is guess. In 2014, Evie was the best thing that could have happened to me. A saviour I hadn't realized I needed; the balm on wounds of grief; the best anti-depressant a girl could have. She had her issues; all dogs do. Things that made me think... I'd jumped the gun, I'd made this decision too rashly, I got a dog too soon. I wasn't ready for re-potty training a 10 month old dog, I wasn't ready to worry about resource guarding and crate-training, things I should have been prepared for. Live and learn. She was never anything other than extremely pleasant to any new person she met, however. And the issues grew thinner and thinner as we grew together, learned each other, and formed a life and a bond together. She adjusted to life with cats flawlessly; our giant maine coon mix runs this house and she knows it. This year, with the influx of foster kittens, she was never anything more than motherly and careful. No animal in this house is around small children or baby animals unsupervised. But Evie has never given us a reason to not trust her. She is the most tolerant creature of baby animals that I have ever met in my entire life. We learned quickly how amazingly receptive to training she was. I have a dog that knows countless tricks. I learned how different a dog could be trained with positive reinforcement, and how fulfilling the sessions could be for both of us. Evie was the first dog I ever trained to loose-leash walk successfully, the first dog to ever grasp things like "Bang!" and "Sit Pretty", she has a play-drive and an incredible desire to please. She is not everyone's perfect dog, but she is my perfect dog. I know it wasn't me. Mostly it was her. I'm still learning, Evie was my first dog "on my own", and she made it easy. We have our issues; a few negative experiences with other dogs and she's not partial to meeting new friends on the leash anymore. But we manage that. She's not reactive, and never barks at strangers or new dogs. She simply likes to introduce herself in a manner where she doesn't feel trapped and cornered. She has never shown any signs of animal aggression outside of feeling defensive around some new dogs. Puppies and small dogs are always welcome friends to her! She lives with 6 cats, and they've chased her more than she's ever chased them. Unless you are a car door slamming at 5AM, a school bus, or thunder, you have nothing to fear from Evie. One of my favorite memories of her interacting with strangers was at the UK Arboretum. This was within a year of adopting her, we take her on adventures often for photo sessions and just to get her exercise in, because she'd be a couch potato if we let her. A family was passing by with their toddler-aged daughter. The child immediately latched onto Evie and squealed and was instantly smitten with her. Evie greets every human being in the same manner: she rolls over, exposes her belly for some good belly rubs, and then will crawl closer. She stays low as if to say "I'm not scary!" She got acquainted with this toddler and the family was so enamored by how gentle and well-behaved she was. For a while, this little girl was just standing with both of her hands braced on Evie's bum, holding herself up, while Evie just stood there, thrilled as could be to be the girl's center of attention, and when they finally went their own way, breaking the two up was quite a task! People avoid her sometimes. That's fine. But there's never been anyone she hasn't wanted to meet. But my favorite time spent with her is nights snuggling on the couch. She lays next to me, tucked into a blanket, and dozes while we binge the newest Netflix series. The moments of quiet peace, where the world is still, and I just feel content. She'd run for days if I was running with her, but as long as I'm down for the count? She's happy to rest as well. We brought Astaroth home from an Australian Shepherd breeder last year to be her constant playmate. He adores her and trusts her judgment, enjoys stealing toys from her, and even smacks her with said toys to antagonize her to chase him. Many a times she has fallen asleep to him chewing on her ears until they are drenched with drool, ever since puppyhood. He was the perfect balance of chaos and mischief to our family. The two have never had a scuffle. Ever. This dog who is so perspective to others' anxiety, and has helped my friends through multiple panic attacks by being with them through them, who put smiles on my face and joy in my heart during a time where I had lost so much and felt so lost. She made me love dogs again; I learned to remember how astonishing the partnership could be. She's a powerful dog without knowing it, and no, not everyone should expect to manage such a muscle beast; she's bruised me in play accidentally because she doesn't know her own strength, but if I was too afraid to get a scratch or bruise here and there, I wouldn't keep pets at all. Dogs are domesticated carnivores and we should regard them as such, with respect, so no, I'm not going to tell you she's a pure, gentle angel made of cotton-candy and clouds. She's muscle, rambunctious energy and power, and she's got a mouthful of teeth that sometimes miss the toy and get your fingers. But that would be true of any dog. This dog came into my life at a time where I desperately needed her, and she's started a journey with me that means the world to me and is close to my heart. People can hate her due to her aesthetics if they like, because of her blocky head and short, brindle coat; I don't fucking like shih-tzus and the like. But you make this personal and all bets are off; I don't care how anyone else feels about my dog, whether they think she's ugly or what, but I trust and believe in her a hell of a lot more than I do some insignificant stranger on the internet. Evie's been in my life almost three years now; her third anniversary is approaching and will be shortly followed by her fourth birthday. I haven't changed my mind about her yet, I highly doubt I'm going to. And sometimes I wonder if I'd still be here if it weren't for her. She is the soldier combating my inner demons daily, just by being present, grounding me and giving me something to be responsible for. She gets me out of the house on days I feel like withering away in bed. She lays with me when I'm feeling melancholy. She makes me smile when her and her brother have silly shenanigans in the living room. And she makes my heart swell with the look of those starlit eyes of hers. My dog is better than anonymous hateful, nasty people will ever be. And I owe my life and my passion and my drive to her. Her love is more important to me than your approval.

P.S. - the Aussie would hate you. See, he takes guidance from his big sister of what sort of people he should trust. He's been smitten with her since he was 8 weeks old. Astaroth is a lot less trusting of strangers than pure, kind-hearted Evie. So if you're gonna hate one of my dogs, go ahead and save some time and hate them both.

Something I wrote and published today on my photography FB page about Evie, in light of strangers on the internet harassing me and attacking her and Astaroth.