Our bad boy - our Alfie (and Richard Armitage)

He is known by many names.
Alfred...  Alfie...  Fredo the stupid older brother of Michael Corleone...  That Damn Dog...  The Polish Prince...  

My Darling Boy.

I don't know what to do with him.  Tonight he pushed his way under the chain link fence around our yard and was running up and down outside the length of the fence, having the time of his life.  Now what do we do?  I can't let him out in the yard on his own anymore; what if he bites someone?  I don't think he'd ever do that but who knows when a dog is frightened, what they might do?  And he looks so ferocious too.

He has separation anxiety when we leave...so we don't leave the house anymore.  Every time we do he eats something.  He's eaten a chair cushion, the vertical blinds, my cell phone, a book, three shavers and one shoe.

And yet...he is the most needy dog I've ever had.  He's hungry for affection all the time, drops everything when you yell at him, sits politely and looks up at you with those eyes of his!

And he loves our older dog, Darcy.  He idolizes her.

We thought he was a Pit Bull mix, but now we aren't certain.  He's such a wuss, how could he be Pit Bull too?  And he's so lovable.  And clumsy.  You don't know true fear until you see an 80 pound dog running at you full speed, with love in his eyes.  Yikes.

Oh, well.  He's here to stay.  No matter how angry my husband gets with him, I insist "If he goes, I go."  (interesting aside, you have to be really secure to say something like that, I wouldn't recommend it for most wives.)