I've had an American Eskimo Dog in my life since I was five years old. I went with my family to pick one out 
from an ad in the local paper. I remember going into the house and seeing a bunch of squirming puppies in a big cardboard box together. My parents and I each held our own puppy, and I was particularly adamant that we take the puppy that I had selected, even though the puppies that my parents held slept sweetly in their arms, and mine was doing his best to escape my arms and run around the house. I'm pretty sure there was a hissy fit and some demanding involved on my part. I won the argument, and we left the house with our new little bundle of joy. When my mom put him down outside to go to the bathroom before the car ride home, he ran under the bushes in the front of the house, and she had to crawl underneath looking for him.
Iggy Loo stayed with our family for 16 years. He was trouble, for sure - he demolished furniture, carpets, clothes, shoes, you name it. He was the reason why my family only purchases trash cans with lids these days. My parents now have two more Eskies (Odie and Olie), and I have one of my own.
My dog Bowie is a bit of a headcase, but I cannot say enough good things about the breed. They are loyal and protective of their family (in my dog's case, a bit too
much). They are affectionate, and playful, and a little bit mischievous. They have the softest, fluffiest coats ever, and they're even self cleaning! Sure, my apartment usually looks like there are Eskie fur tumbleweeds blowing down the hall, and I should probably buy stock in the company that makes lint rollers, but I wouldn't trade my little spooks in for anything. There is nothing more comforting than hopping into bed at the end of the day and having my dog curl his little body up against my back in his favorite spot (that is, after I roll him off of my side of the bed!)
Photos:
Top: Iggy Loo, March 2005
Middle: Odie and Olie, July 2006
Bottom: Bowie, September 2010
