Don't get me wrong. He can be a total sweetheart--patient and kind. He's not at all a kissy dog, but he is more than willing to accept any love you throw his way.
Just this weekend, we were at the vet when we met Charlie, a small three-legged dog with a big personality. I walked Luke over to Charlie to say hi, and that's when Charlie was shot by Cupid's arrow. Charlie was smitten. Even though he was missing a leg, he jumped all over Luke, slathering him in big wet doggy kisses. What did Luke do? He stood there like a perfect gentleman--accepting this brilliant display of affection--though I don't think he returned Charlie's strong feelings. I thought it was adorable that Luke let this tiny eccentric thing jump all over him--never batting an eye.
His patience is abundant. He is accepting of all mild forms of torture inflicted upon him...
But he's not always so angelic. No, sir. See, Luke is battling an addiction of sorts. A filthy addiction. Phew... this is hard to say. I'll just blurt it out and get it over with. Luke eats trash. If it's in his presence, he's eating it. It doesn't matter what it is. Old towels, coffee grounds, styrofoam, animal fat (yum!), empty bottles of drain cleaner (yikes!)--his palate is quite undiscerning.
There's no photo of this--but believe me, we have had plenty of opportunities to capture the scene of the trash can on its side, days' worth of garbage trailed through the house. We just aren't in a very photogenic mood when we return home from work to find this disgusting surprise awaiting us. Usually, instead of running for the camera, we simply curse for a few minutes. We eventually realize that swearing does not make the mess magically go away. So we move on to the final phase--acceptance--and call on the arsenal of cleaning machines at our disposal--the mighty Dyson, the Bissel Spot-Bot, and the Bissel Steam Mop. Because there's really nothing I'd rather do after a full day of work than come home and give my house a deep clean. LIES! I JUST WANT TO RELAX, DAMMIT! WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME, LUKE? WHYYYYYYYY?!
I'd like to mention that we even bought a supposedly pet-proof trash can with a lock to prevent curious snouts from exploring discarded food stuffs. Either that lock is a piece of junk, or Luke is Doggy MacGuyver. (Fun Fact: Richard Dean Anderson, MacGuyver himself, went to my alma mater, Ohio University.) I have a hard time opening that blasted trash can lock, so let's just go with the Doggy MacGuyver theory, shall we?
But as annoying as cleaning up the trash is, it's very hard to stay mad at him. I mean, just look at this face...