Say "chis"
I am a dog person. I never thought, however, that I was a "small dog" person. I have two reasonable, normal sorts of dogs...an Aussie mix and a Golden mix. The amount of dog hair blowing through my house is a testimony to the "love me, love my dog" mantra that I live by. If you visit me, bring a lint roller.
Still, at least I wasn't a "small dog" person..you know, the kind that talks baby talk to a fat little sausage-y something that yaps. I felt especially strongly about chihuahuas...the whole rat analogy seemed perfectly reasonable to me.
That was before we adopted Dolly. She is totally rat-like and pure "chi", but I love and adore her. And now, I have a link to one of my favorite websites..."chihuahua people". There is nothing like checking in with chihuahua people after a long day. My husband gets my "there is drama on the chi site" updates as he walks through the door. All things chi interest me. For example, how many threads out there in cyberspace have these titles?
"Do chis pout?"
"Ugh...fleas"
"Help! Killer Cat!"
....and my current favorite,
"Chi acne".
Nothing is better for the psyche than to read a long thread excoriating anyone who would dare to call a small chihuahua a "teacup" to its face.
My husband reads theological blogs and I find myself spending waaaaaaayyyyy too much time discussing online whether a puppy weighing 4 pounds at six months will gain to more than six in a year (the horror of an over-sized chihuahua). What is wrong with this picture?
Still, there are great benefits to owning that six pound pooch. When it's bath time, I can bathe her in the bathroom sink. When it's bath time for the big dogs...well, that's another matter. The biggest concern is WHY it's often bath time for them.
Maggie likes to roll in questionable muck. Perfect daugher theorizes it's "her way of telling us to bathe her." Oh thanks, Maggie. It only seems to happen in cold weather, which necessitates rowdy son donning his swimsuit and dragging Maggie into the shower with him. This after throwing away yet another never-to-be-used again collar. Maggie is on about her 25th collar now. I'm getting them at the dollar store these days.
This doesn't happen with the chi. In fact, the likelihood of her rolling in anything other than a down comforter is remote indeed. The only time she has needed a bath has been when Maggie decided to lick her all over with the the doggiest of old-toothless-dog breath.
It's also easier dealing with porcupines. Pip has come home at night, covered with quills. He is not smart enough NOT to try to grab a porcupine with his mouth. He is not smart enough not to learn from the first time. Or the second. This also happens in cold weather, so we all end up on the floor of the bathroom, with pliers, flinging quills all over. Since he never figured out how to leave a porcupine alone, you KNOW he is still chasing skunks.
(For the record, tomato juice on skunky dogs only causes the dog to turn a nauseating color and instead of smelling purely skunked, he now smells like skunk/tomato juice. And when he shakes it all over the house--because, of course, he was skunked in cold weather--the juice leaves rather a massacre effect on the walls and carpet).
Pip and Maggie also favor bringing entire dead dear carcasses up to the front door. During hunting season, apparently there is an endless supply (does the word "field-dressing" mean anything to you?). There is nothing quite like telling your children, "Don't play in the front yard till Daddy moves the body" to make you start to dislike your big dogs (who, by the way, think life out here is pure heaven).
This also will not happen with Dolly. Weighing in at less than a nice-sized roast beef, she is not allowed to wreak havoc on the wildlife in our little country acreage. She goes out on a leash. Always. There will be no no chasing of porcupines, no catching skunks, not even a little innocent cat tormenting. I may have found the perfect pooch.
As long as she (shudders) doesn't get bigger than six pounds.
Still, at least I wasn't a "small dog" person..you know, the kind that talks baby talk to a fat little sausage-y something that yaps. I felt especially strongly about chihuahuas...the whole rat analogy seemed perfectly reasonable to me.
That was before we adopted Dolly. She is totally rat-like and pure "chi", but I love and adore her. And now, I have a link to one of my favorite websites..."chihuahua people". There is nothing like checking in with chihuahua people after a long day. My husband gets my "there is drama on the chi site" updates as he walks through the door. All things chi interest me. For example, how many threads out there in cyberspace have these titles?
"Do chis pout?"
"Ugh...fleas"
"Help! Killer Cat!"
....and my current favorite,
"Chi acne".
Nothing is better for the psyche than to read a long thread excoriating anyone who would dare to call a small chihuahua a "teacup" to its face.
My husband reads theological blogs and I find myself spending waaaaaaayyyyy too much time discussing online whether a puppy weighing 4 pounds at six months will gain to more than six in a year (the horror of an over-sized chihuahua). What is wrong with this picture?
Still, there are great benefits to owning that six pound pooch. When it's bath time, I can bathe her in the bathroom sink. When it's bath time for the big dogs...well, that's another matter. The biggest concern is WHY it's often bath time for them.
Maggie likes to roll in questionable muck. Perfect daugher theorizes it's "her way of telling us to bathe her." Oh thanks, Maggie. It only seems to happen in cold weather, which necessitates rowdy son donning his swimsuit and dragging Maggie into the shower with him. This after throwing away yet another never-to-be-used again collar. Maggie is on about her 25th collar now. I'm getting them at the dollar store these days.
This doesn't happen with the chi. In fact, the likelihood of her rolling in anything other than a down comforter is remote indeed. The only time she has needed a bath has been when Maggie decided to lick her all over with the the doggiest of old-toothless-dog breath.
It's also easier dealing with porcupines. Pip has come home at night, covered with quills. He is not smart enough NOT to try to grab a porcupine with his mouth. He is not smart enough not to learn from the first time. Or the second. This also happens in cold weather, so we all end up on the floor of the bathroom, with pliers, flinging quills all over. Since he never figured out how to leave a porcupine alone, you KNOW he is still chasing skunks.
(For the record, tomato juice on skunky dogs only causes the dog to turn a nauseating color and instead of smelling purely skunked, he now smells like skunk/tomato juice. And when he shakes it all over the house--because, of course, he was skunked in cold weather--the juice leaves rather a massacre effect on the walls and carpet).
Pip and Maggie also favor bringing entire dead dear carcasses up to the front door. During hunting season, apparently there is an endless supply (does the word "field-dressing" mean anything to you?). There is nothing quite like telling your children, "Don't play in the front yard till Daddy moves the body" to make you start to dislike your big dogs (who, by the way, think life out here is pure heaven).
This also will not happen with Dolly. Weighing in at less than a nice-sized roast beef, she is not allowed to wreak havoc on the wildlife in our little country acreage. She goes out on a leash. Always. There will be no no chasing of porcupines, no catching skunks, not even a little innocent cat tormenting. I may have found the perfect pooch.
As long as she (shudders) doesn't get bigger than six pounds.
posted by herewegoagain at
10:41 PM
2 Comments:
But will you still be able to love her if she does get bigger than five pounds? ;-)
I loved this one! I laughed so hard, especially reading the part about "don't play in the front yard till Daddy moves the body"!! It must be dog heaven to them though...
I remember one of my first visits back from college, being absolutely horrified when I thought you had died Pip! His coat--I remembered as white and black--had become rather red in spots. I think I asked you, in disbelief, and you said "We had to get the skunk smell out. If it died his coat in the process, it will grow. We had to get the skunk smell out" (emphasis on had). Oh dear.
And yet we love them, don't we, when they stick their big noses on our laps and look up at us adoringly. Nothing quite like that.
By
Anonymous, at 10:18 AM
As long as when they stick their big noses on our laps they haven't been out with the skunks.
Will I love a massive Dolly? Will YOU?? Sigh. She just keeps growing. Maybe she's not a chi after all. Maybe she really IS a greyhound.
Miss you!
By
herewegoagain, at 1:29 PM
Post a Comment
<< Home