Six years ago today, we adopted Cody, also known as Brown.
Cody, the dog with the world's saddest eyes, is the ultimate bottom dog. She isn't overly affectionate, and the affection she gives is quiet and restrained. She is slow, lazy, devious, and mischievous in her own quiet way. She is also a survivor: Cody is the only dog I've ever heard of who was an overweight stray.
In typical bottom-dog fashion, Cody hates anything being done to her - bath, vet, nails clipped - and screams bloody murder before anything even starts. (By contrast, Buster the Alpha Dog will calmly submit to any and all procedures if he is so instructed. And if his mommy is with him.)
Cody likes to be alone. In fact, she's the only dog we've ever had who doesn't sleep in our bedroom. This is a subject of great note in our home. Dogs normally want to be around their human family at all times, but Cody likes her privacy. Indeed, I suspect she's not a dog at all, but a cat wearing a clever disguise.
For her birthday, Cody gets to go to the vet and be stuck with needles.