Is this the face of a Killer? I say yes.
Dear and I recently got a puppy. When I say recently, I meant we got him six weeks ago. The journey to get Jesse, or Donkey as we sometimes call him, began when Dear started searching for a puppy to help ease the transition as Princess, his standard poodle, creeps up in years. She’s nine, but he would be awfully sad when that day eventually comes. And I’ll be sad as well. So he began searching for a puppy that could be a companion to Princess, and also help bridge that inevitable gap.
One Saturday six weeks ago, he had finally made up his mind that he was going to go get a puppy. We hopped in the car after eating a breakfast of sausage, sausage gravy and biscuits with some fresh fruit prepared by yours truly here. It was a gloomy, rainy start to what would turn into a long journey all over the state of Georgia. Our first stop in the search for this puppy took us to Hogansville, Georgia, out in the middle of nowhere. But these puppies just wouldn’t do, even after a heart-wrenching story from the owner about how he was in his last days of some sort of stomach cancer. And he didn’t hesitate to show us the scars from surgery. Though he did tell us that Great Danes were capable of taking down coyotes. His had just the night before. From Hogansville we then headed to, of all places, Macon, GA via winding back roads until we hit I-75. After an afternoon of traveling, we finally saw the beast that would become Jesse.
At first, I was overwhelmed with memories of my own dog I had to give up years ago (a blonde labrador named Blue. Only recently have I forgiven my mother for that decision). But then, I saw his sad, blue puppy eyes and I thought I was in love. He was a six-week old merle Great Dane, with blue eyes and mottled light grey hair. I held him in my arms as Dear filled out the paperwork and paid the owner (we suspect she may or may not have been inbred, given her looks, but she was kind enough and smelled like Jack Daniels). We loaded ourselves back into the car and finally began the journey back home, Jesse in my arms the entire way. Mind you, at this time he wasn’t named Jesse; we just called him puppy as we contemplated his name for the next week.
At first, he was timid and afraid. That night we tried to make him sleep in the back of the house near the washing and drying machine where we had kept puppies before, but he howled the entire night until he was brought to the bedside. With my history of dealing and understanding the subtle psyches of children and infants, I knew this was a dangerous precedent to set. But I really wanted to sleep. We had been driving all day and we had to wake up early not only for Pride but also to take him to get checked out by the vet. And so he slept bedside.
The next day, at Pride, Dear and I saw a lady in the parade walking a Great Dane. He exclaimed, with great excitement, that we had just bought a Great Dane, six weeks old. How proud we were! She chuckled and said, “Good luck.” This was the second time my spidey sense went off. “You won’t have any rest until he’s at least two years old.”
Perhaps the fact that the night before we drove all around the state of Georgia in search of this puppy we happened to watch Marley and Me. This one little fact, perhaps, auspicated the life we were in for. I should have read the birds. Divined the tea leaves. Listened to intuition. But it was too late. Dear was falling in love with this new little puppy.
Fast forward to today. Dear’s arms are covered in bite marks that have drawn a considerable amount of blood. Jesse’s way of saying hello to people is to gnaw on them when they least expect it. He’ll draw you in with sad, drooping puppy eyes, and let you pet him for a few seconds before he’s overcome with an insatiable instinct to use his puppy teeth to gnash and gnaw as though he’s possessed. While walking around the house, when I least expect it, he comes galloping along to chew on my pant leg, as though the most deepest desire in his little puppy heart is to see me trip and fall.
Dear takes him to work during the day, and a lady asked to pet him. He owns a print shop on Boulevard. Dear said to be careful, that Jesse says ‘I love you’ in the most peculiar way. The lady was dressed elegantly, with nice pantyhose. She came behind the counter and sat in the chair to pet Jessie the Donkey Great Dane. Dear turned his back to take care of the lady’s order, until he heard mild screams. He shuffled over there and found Jesse ripping her panty hose to shreds. I’ve suggested a muzzle for this demonic beast. And suggested we change his name to Damien.
And for some reason, this past week, he’s taken to waking up exactly around 3 AM and galloping madly around the house, his huge paws clomping as he puppy romps throughout the house. I’m a light sleeper, and this galloping immediately wakes me up. Perhaps we shouldn’t have started calling him Donkey as a nickname, and he wouldn’t have acquired this trait.
If he starts growing horns or breathing sulphur and fire, I’ll know for certain that instead of a cute puppy we’ve adopted the anti-christ of dogs. Christmas will be the ultimate test.
In my lack of a decent night’s sleep, I’ve resorted to telling this beast to his face, who I now call Lucifer, that I just don’t love him. And I won’t. Until he’s left this biting and galloping stage of his. Deep down I do love this donkey of a creature. I just want to sleep.
If you see this dog, beware. He’s deceptively cute, likes to bring in rocks and drop them in his waterbowl, bring sticks and chew them to little bits just to create large messes, and prone to gnashing fits of biting.
The Center for Quality Growth and Regional Development at Georgia Tech 
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