Friday, October 01, 2004
Chihuahua Ramblings
I sure do love my little old chihuahua. He's at least 10 years old, but I rescued him as a full grown adult, I'll never be certain.
I talk to the little guy all the time and I don't mind if people think I'm crazy. I know he understand quite a bit of verbal language, especially since he became blind from cataracts. We just finished eating my dinner of carne asada tacos. I thought them a bit picante, but he didn't appear bothered by the bits I shared with him. Being a chihuahua, I consider him an honorary mexican descendant with an inherent privilege to partake in latin cuisine. He considers himself very important and attempts to rule the territory of my bed like a warlord. My Spanish speaking friends have dubbed him "El Rey de Cama" (translation: King of the Bed.)
When I adopted my boy, he was in a very sad state. He had just spent 4 months with his previous adoptive owner who had become tired of the dog. Apparently my boy had been terrified of the resident German Shepherd as well as the family's young children so he withdrew to his doggie bed in a small laundry room where he ventured from the safety of the bed only for food and potty outings. My boy had become quite proficient at producing menacing growls and life threatening savage snarls. Clearly the boy had been passed around from home to home and tormented consistently.
The story has a happy outcome. My doggie has gained his sense of security. He's a happy sweet little fellow now who happily greets all guests who visit. I wish he could live as long as I will.
Tomorrow when Sara comes to see us, my boy will hear her car and begin the tail wagging. Sara always talks to him in her special 'animal whisperer' manner. She likes to encourage him to roll over and show her his "frijolitos" while she scratches and rubs him. He loves her more dearly than anyone.
The gratitude of the formerly misunderstood and unloved spirit is enormous and humbling.
I talk to the little guy all the time and I don't mind if people think I'm crazy. I know he understand quite a bit of verbal language, especially since he became blind from cataracts. We just finished eating my dinner of carne asada tacos. I thought them a bit picante, but he didn't appear bothered by the bits I shared with him. Being a chihuahua, I consider him an honorary mexican descendant with an inherent privilege to partake in latin cuisine. He considers himself very important and attempts to rule the territory of my bed like a warlord. My Spanish speaking friends have dubbed him "El Rey de Cama" (translation: King of the Bed.)
When I adopted my boy, he was in a very sad state. He had just spent 4 months with his previous adoptive owner who had become tired of the dog. Apparently my boy had been terrified of the resident German Shepherd as well as the family's young children so he withdrew to his doggie bed in a small laundry room where he ventured from the safety of the bed only for food and potty outings. My boy had become quite proficient at producing menacing growls and life threatening savage snarls. Clearly the boy had been passed around from home to home and tormented consistently.
The story has a happy outcome. My doggie has gained his sense of security. He's a happy sweet little fellow now who happily greets all guests who visit. I wish he could live as long as I will.
Tomorrow when Sara comes to see us, my boy will hear her car and begin the tail wagging. Sara always talks to him in her special 'animal whisperer' manner. She likes to encourage him to roll over and show her his "frijolitos" while she scratches and rubs him. He loves her more dearly than anyone.
The gratitude of the formerly misunderstood and unloved spirit is enormous and humbling.
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