Stars Wars, the epic movie collection, is now many years removed from its inaugural episode, but I still remember the first reviews of that movie in 1977.  One reviewer referred to it as a modern-day morality play – good vs. evil.  It was simple, good guys vs. bad guys.  Then in a later episode, we were faced with that ominous, shockingly guttural statement to Luke Skywalker, “I am your father.”  Suddenly the universe was no longer black and white but rather a cloudy gray.  How could the baby-faced hero be any way related to the villain of all movie villains.  Say it ain’t so…but it was.

I love this big hunk of dog.  He’s goofy, lovable, playful, and loyal.  But Lewis has a dark side.  I hesitate to reveal this truth to his many fans who will echo the sentiment of “Say it ain’t so, Joe.”   But it is so, and I was reminded of it recently.

Lewis has issues with food.  No, not the snarfing kind (although he has those, too), but the “get near my food and I will snap at you” kind.  Who knew Lewis likes coconut cake? It was the last of my birthday cake, and Lewis was counter surfing to snarf (there it is again) any leftovers.  I innocently reached down to move the chair out of his way, and then it happened.  Darth Vader emerged.  You could almost see it in his eyes, and if I couldn’t understand that, his snapping at my hand was a more discernible clue.

The rescue organization (Two by Two – they are great by the way) had told us that he has certain issues sharing food.  We had experienced that once or twice, but with that big old hunk of lovable dog, it’s easy to forget the Darth Vader in him.  It wasn’t particularly vicious, but it was a little disturbing.  And not to be one of those indulgent parents, but it wasn’t his fault.  For the first eight months of his life, there was no food, no water, other than what he could find lying around.  Then he had to compete with other abandoned animals for each little bit.  It really wasn’t his fault.

Just like humans, a dog’s personality is a product of their environment and experiences.  That is even more true with rescue dogs.  They endure so much before they make it to your doorstep, but crossing over that doorstep doesn’t erase the memories, at least not immediately.  Adopting a rescue dog is a high calling and a privilege.  When I think about this 140-pound goober as a small, white puppy lying by the side of the road, cold, and hungry, then yes, he deserves a little leeway.

Perhaps in time, his memory of “I am your father,” will be replaced with the more hopeful reminder, “I am your father, now.”