Having lived with dogs all my life, I know they can be strange.

One cocker spaniel of my youth, when riding in the back of the family station wagon, would position herself at the side window just beyond the rear seats and race every oncoming car to the rear window.

Another would try to dig any reflected sunbeam out of the floor or wall.

But, I’m sorry. As much as I love Lucy, she may be the most screwed-up pooch I’ve known.

Her thing is shadows. Hard to tell, though: Are they her hobby and celebration? Or are they her mortal enemy?

Another problem: I’m the person who brings the shadows. Of course, I’m also the person who brings food and water, and belly rubs.

Is she celebrating with those rat-a-tat, ear-splitting yelps, darting to the back of the yard, positioning herself for my shadow being projected from the back door or via porch light? Or, is this just terror?

Am I the grim reaper to her — or grinning reaper as it were?

Whatever, it’s loud. Crazy loud.

Lucy is one of two pups we acquired last spring when they were found in a pile of puppies out near Abbott. Pedigree? No idee. She’s got some terrier in her, that we figure. The rest? Go figure. I’m thinking she’s part Jack Russell, part civil defense siren. Oh, my ears.

Mine isn’t the only shadow that will push the needle on her bark meter. The wagging shadows from the tails of her two backyard mates, Sadie and Bandit, do it, too. Another shadow that drives her up many decibels is from the laundry basket. True, its image on the floor is that of a robo-jelly fish. That’s scary. Then again, she could be thrilled to see the jelly fish.

Glee or alarm, either condition poses the same condition at dinner time. Lucy’s well-adjusted sister Sadie has never seen grub for which she wouldn’t hunker down. When I bring their meal at night, Sadie will get down to business. Lucy will dart around the backyard yelping.

Before Lucy can settle down, Sadie has matriculated from her dish to Lucy’s. Not surprisingly, Sadie is establishing a barrel chest. We could rename Lucy Twiggy.

“If your shadow would quit attacking her . . .” said my wife.

“All my shadow does is feed her,” said I.

“All your shadow does is sneak up on her food as you feed her.” Geeze.

OK. So, now at night, instead of turning on the porch light, or even the light in the laundry room where I prepare their meal and they eat, I turn on no lights. I did plug in a mini night-light above the washer so I could see.

This has helped a little. But even a night light casts a shadow. This has not resolved her condition entirely.

Indeed, when I arrive home at night and she hears my motor and the shutting of my car door, you can hear her start yelping. Fear or celebration? Who knows? What we know is that the man who brings food and shadows has returned.

So, dog owners. Any ideas? Send ’em. Suggestions not to be entertained: doggie downers or a muzzle.

I’ll not be losing my shadow any time soon. And Lucy is ours for life. Is there hope for peace?

John Young’s column appears Thursday and Sunday. E-mail: jyoung@wacotrib.com.