4 Years, Today

According to the Humane Society, Lefty turned 4 today. As you know, he's my number one. Here are a few things you might not know.

I grew up with dogs but didn't really want one. Lance, my former mister, convinced me to meet the 8-week-old mutt, and I mean anyone faced with a fuzzball of this caliber does not drive home puppy-less. Lance wanted the dog, yeah, but all these years later, look whose dog it is!!

His name has nothing to do with dexterity. We named him after Lefty of Pancho And Lefty fame, who, I've been reminded, was a snitch. The name was also kinda inspired by that Lefty's Prayer drink at the Bye And Bye—a dark elixir of beat juice and tequila that sent me spinning a few months before we got Lefty.

The dog is spoiled but he's not pampered. He doesn't get hair cuts. I don't really buy him toys. And he doesn't go to the vet—he's a farm dog and when shit comes up we sort it out at home. He's a fucking wild animal!

Lefty IS spoiled, though, ’cause he gets to spend almost every waking minute with me. Codependent? Yeah. But dogs are the best company on earth—I like him better than most humans—and I've never understood why you'd get a dog and just leave him at home. They're born to be your wingman, to walk behind you on the trail, to chase you at the skatepark, to lay at your feet while you work, to bark at that stranger in the dark, to guard the house at night while you sleep.