Still delving into the vat of photos, I found this pic of Babe, my beloved Blue Ox, when he was a puppy.
I didn't own him then, but it is obvious that he was a little shit, just looking for a way to wreak havoc. And he must have, because his owner hated him by the time he was a year old and gave him to me.
By then he was a kind of a big shit, skinny at 85 pounds. My first sight of him in his previous owners' truck astonished me with his sheer size; my first interaction with him filled me with pity that he had been so neglected that he didn't even respond to his owners' yanking on his leash and shouting his name.
Of course, they didn't know his name was Babe, they called him "Max."
"How are you getting along with that dog?" his previous owner asked me at work one day, a couple weeks after she'd given him to me.
"I love him, he's such a sweet honey bunkins," I said, hearts flying off me, remembering the delight of kissing his beautiful face and having him rub himself on me.
"Honey bunkins?" she sputtered. "He was no Honey Bunkins for us -- he was -- MAX!!!" and she gestured a power thrust with her fist.
No, really, with something that has that many teeth, to lie on the floor and play patty-cake and belly-rubs with Alex (on the couch) and me (the knees) .... ummm, that's Honey Bunkins.
We all miss him so very much, every single day.
Why do we still cry after almost three years?