Richie… Richie is something else in our family. People called him all kinds of names: “Dog with a heavy past,” “Monster,” “Noble Gentleman”… you name it.

Richie’s a mix. A real mix. Cane Corso, Neapolitan Mastiff, maybe American Pit Bull or Bulldog… none of them are easy. Big dogs, strong dogs, scary dogs.

Before, his owner… well, probably trained him for fights. Then the owner went to jail. Richie? Left alone. On a chain. In the hot sun. No food. No water. Days.

What to do? Two options: give him to someone else… or put him down. Simple. But no one dared touch him in Cyprus. No way.

Except… my owner’s eldest son. He’d just lost his own dog, a big black Newfoundland, Baloo… hit by a car. Couldn’t even imagine Richie dying like that.

First days? Oh, a nightmare. The monster with a heavy past is still in Richie. Really still. He bit the new owner… the one who saved his life. Later, he bit a few more people… but let’s not go there yet.

You know… Richie has something of a Newfoundland inside. Big heart, deep loyalty. But… he still looks scary, even with a muzzle. My owner, a dog person for 50+ years, said he felt… not fear, exactly… just… tension, alert. Another nickname? “Unpredictable.” Never know what he’ll do.

Treats? Ha. He can barely take them. Looks like he wants to bite your hand. He’s learning. My owner gives him from his hand. Safe.

Once… owners took us on a ferry from London to the island. Crowded ferry. People everywhere. We lie under a table. Richie tied to the railing… just in case.

People notice. “Can we pet the dogs?” they ask. My owners say, pointing at me: “Sure! But that one… our son… unpredictable.” Everyone laughs. Me? Pet me! Richie? People watch. Carefully. His look… don’t mess with me.

After some time… Richie got it. The new owner didn’t just save his life. He gave him a happy life. Gratitude turned into love. Real love.

Now… he never leaves the owner’s side. Owner stands? Richie jumps. The owner moves across the room? Richie follows. Door between them? Bark! Neighbours hear. Scary bark. But… good bark. Owner back! Tail spinning! Happy!

Food? Ha. Not important. Owner leaves? Bowl full? He forgets. Wants owner.

Phone rings? Richie jealous. Is the owner talking to someone else? Richie thinks: Hey! Me! Attention! Mine!

Owner leaves for hours, days? Richie waits. At the gate. Or door. Rain? Doesn’t matter. Waits. Day after day.

He lets my owners feed him, brush him, wipe paws… but in his mind: Where’s my owner?

Richie and I… first? Neutral. Armed. I’m the boss here. He’s a guest. We had to prove it. A few scuffles. He started them, of course.

Soon… he understood. He’s family like me. Eats the same, treats the same. No kitchen. No fights.

Richie sleeps on my mat in the office. Fine by me. My owners let him. I understand. When hot, we switch. Close. Side by side. Hours.

Training? Hard. Past heavy. Still can’t bark on command. Me? Learned at three months. Little boss Toby helped. I try teaching Richie… not yet. He barks… but not on command. Time will come.