My name is Libeck and I am a dog. A Caucasian dog. I come from a long line of pure breed Caucasian Ovcharka Mountain dog.
My ancestors originated from the Caucasus Mountain region of Russia. There are some though who argue that the Caucasian Ovcharka evolved from a group of dogs originally from Tibet some 2000 years ago … but who cares? Not me, duh. I don’t know Tibet, I don’t even know Russia and I got a gut feeling I never will.
Thing is I might be of Russian origin but right now, let’s say I’ve naturalized into a full fledged Nigerian doggy citizen. I was born here. I was raised here. I still live here and I’m not going nowhere.
so this little story of mine is really about me … or so it would have been … except My Master … a true no nonsense Nigerian Master, became dissatisfied with his bachelor status *don’t ask me why*, and decided to get married.
I don’t understand marriage. We dogs never will. I mean why the heck would any man in his right senses, a real man, an alpha male, of any species whatsoever, want to give up their God-given liberty and freedom to be shackled up and chained down by a female? What is the satisfaction in having access to just one, when you can access a thousand if need be? Isn’t variety supposed to be the spice of life, huh?
Well, that is the million Naira question that no one has got the right answer to.
Anyhoo, Master decided he’d had enough of his freestyle lifestyle and needed monogamy and boredom, so off he went one nice little weekend and came back the next Sunday armed with a squeaky, screeching, sweet-smelling hot little mama on equally squeaky heels … *hey, I got s great working nose and really good eyes, okay?*
Peeps, I didn’t give a hoot when they parked right in front of the house and soon after a massive truck followed and these group of sweaty ugly looking men proceeded to off load what looked like at least a dozen suitcases and a million and one odds and ends. What do I care if Master wanted to ‘cramp’ not just his style but his apartment too. As long as they kept away from my kennel, they could stuff themselves for all I care.
I had of course done my duty by getting up from my repose mode to go wag my tail and do a few jumps and jolly barks to show Master I missed his presence and I’m willing to share our soon-to-be-messed-up world with his Mistress … *huh, my mistress, I guess*.
Anyways I was doing my jumps and jolly barks and really commending my style when Mistress shrieked and ran back to open the back seat of the car and lifted up this funny looking way-too-pink box. For a moment I actually thought she’d bought me a present, an-ugly-wrapped present but a present all the same. I did my on-the-second race and reached her side, wagging my tail and making sure to avoid swiping her with my wagging tongue – I know from past experiences how much she hated that. My excitement seemed to please her for she did a quick jump herself and nearly crushed one of my toes with her awful heel but I was real brave and did not growl, after all I was soon getting my present.
She dropped the box on the car bonnet and hastily opened it and screeched as she lifted something up. “Look, Libeck, I brought with me your very own little sister, Lemon.”
My quick bark of joy stuck to my throat and almost choked me as I stared opened-mouthed at the creamy brown definitely overweight wriggly moaning creature in her hand.
It was a cat!