Dogs

I just finished reading Marley & Me, by John Grogan. It's about the Grogan family's life with Marley, a golden lab who crashed through screen doors, gouged through drywall, flung drool on guests, stole women's undergarments, and ate nearly everything he could gets his mouth around, including fine jewelry. But he was also lovable, gentle, and loyal, and the family adored him. It's a good read, and I recommend it.
Marley was an extreme version of Scooby, my Australian shepherd. Fortunately Scoob and I have come to a better accommodation with each other. But it took time. When I got him from the Humane Society, he jumped on me all the time, stole food from wherever he found it, pottied in the house whenever out of my sight. Like Marley, he was paranoid about storms. During our first thunderstorm together, he hid under my desk and pawed my legs nervously until I had great bruises. Nowadays, three and a half years later, he feels secure enough that he only hides in the closet during storms.
But most of our accommodation has been on my part--I've taught him not to jump by stern use of a leash to pull him down. I've learned to keep food out of his reach, to keep him beside me whenever he's in the house. He sleeps leashed to a leg of my bed, which he seems to thoroughly enjoy. When I say "Go to your bed" he runs to his pallet and stands there until I come to hook the leash. He also knows "Go to the office." I can't cure him of everything--he still eats soiled tissues out of the wastebasket inches from me and, when given a chance, raids the cat box. And I don't walk him because twice, in his urge to herd strollers, motorcycles, bicyclists, school buses, etc., he pulled me down--now he gets his exercise chasing squirrels in the backyard.
Scooby has done his part. Once a nervous and scared abused dog, he has calmed down and now lies peacefully at my feet for long periods of time, rising occasionally to nose my elbow and let me know it's time to love him. At night he puts his nose on the edge of the bed and stares at me with huge, adoring eyes.
And protective? Terrorists will not get me if Scooby has anything to do with it--nor will the mail carrier, the UPS driver, and a few hundred other people that he thinks need to be warned off. If you're inside the house, he's your best friend; step outside on the porch and you're his enemy (but not me or the family).
My friends and family are not as wild about Scooby as I am--he gets excited when there are other people in the house, and once in his early days he jumped up to love a friend, hit a tooth against her lip, and caused bleeding. She swore he was trying to bite her and no amount of talking could convince her he is not a threat to my grandchildren.
In a lifetime full of dogs, I've only had one other, 35 years ago, that I bonded with the way I have with Scooby. With my comfortable house, my one dog, and my one cat, I'm one happy camper. The cat? That's another story for another time.