This article is a response to Nikki the Dog’s article: Claws In The Floor
Could someone, anyone, tell me why a tiny dog thinks they’re so big? A vet once told me my little dog had no idea he wasn’t as large as a Doberman. Isn’t that interesting?
It may explain why he’s nearly gotten me killed on several occasions while walking.
He’s a whopping 9 pound Pomeranian furball. Just don’t tell him that. He has no idea.
I remember the day I was walking along a residential country road, listening to Sawyer Brown on the headphones, Nikki in tow. My arm felt a tug so I turned. A mixed breed dog of some sort, much larger than Nik, was about to dissect his haunches with barred teeth. Being surprised as I was (I hadn’t heard a thing), I just yanked the leash up high in the air.
Poor Nikki. He had the ride of his life, but at least, no teeth sank into his small frame. Hell, they would probably have had trouble finding skin through all that hair.
Actually, I am not sure whether it is hair or fur. What determines that distinction? I’m asking my husband as my fingers fly, and we aren’t quite sure. Any ideas?
Our walks got to the point that if he was coming along, we were going to be hoofing it on the high school track. Tired of being chased by Rottweilers as big as a small car or having dogs run along the fence barking as if I was their long lost mama — it all lost its appeal at 7:00 in the morning. Neighbors wake up, then yell.
The track it is. Now my biggest problem was trying to train the dog when to dispense of his food. First, he did that in the car, until I discovered he can’t eat, then ride.
My fear on the track was that he’d eliminate more than water, there in front of all the other walkers and the teenagers. And who would have to clean this lovely specimen up? Why, me. Yes, I have that kind of face. Make me do all things embarrassing. That’s what I’m convinced it says to people and animals.
How do you train a dog not to crap? Or, at least, not in certain places. I’m into my 4th (or is it 5th) decade now, and I haven’t figured that one out. I need serious help here.
When my daughters and I went to purchase a puppy one Christmas eve, 1992, he was the only one left. We walked around the corner and there he stood. A two-pound fluff, blinking innocent brown eyes up at us. We aahed in unison, and had to own him.
“Is he potty-trained?” I asked. A perfectly normal question.
“Yes, he is,” the breeder lady said.
Great, one thing I didn’t have to worry about.
That is, at least until I got our new puppy home. She lied. Can you return a puppy because he doesn’t know the rules? I don’t think so.
This dog of ours loves to ride in the car. For the most part, he has no clue how to do so. He used to run the full length of my mini-van and drive me nuts. Troll up and down every seat, every window, bouncing around like a dog on Metabolife. Had to make certain his nose print slobber was on each and every window.
Now, I drive a Taurus, and he must be more sedate. That or we drive into the back of the car in front of us. I make him sit nicely on the front seat, or sometimes on the floor, if he’s bothering me. A bother defined is his feeling rambunctious when I don’t.
Dogs. What would we do without their companionship? I am not sure, but I damn well know I wouldn’t be making trips to PetSmart, PetCo, and the groomers so often. Small fortunes have been lost in those places. By me.
Matching dog dishes are not a necessity but they look so neat the same color, with the non-skid bottoms on them. I knew Nikki had to have them, couldn’t live without them. I saw that look in his eyes.
They do skid. Right now, his water dish is on the matching teal-colored placemat, nicely provided by PetSmart for a fee, while the dog food dish has slid across the floor some two feet away. He’s feeling rambunctious again, I guess.
My dog even has to eat weird. He eats when we eat most of the time. At other times, he eats when he knows we want it quiet. That is when he carts somewhere around eleven small bits of dry dog food in his mouth to right in front of the television, drops it all on the newly-vacuumed carpet, and proceeds to crunch. Loudly. Why? Why not eat over your dish like we humans do? I haven’t figured this one out yet.
You never see a horse do that. No, they’re not about to leave their hay bin to let another buddy scoot up in their place.
Dogs, I have discovered, are a very different breed. I would stay and chat more, but I hear him tipping over his dish with his paw. That means the food is now scattered across my tile floor, because he doesn’t LIKE it in the dish. He wants it everywhere, spread out for his perusal. I don’t understand. The pieces all look the same size to me. But what do I know? I’m only his human.
Remind me of this next time, when I think Eddie on Frasier is adorable and I think I need one just like him. Instead, send me to watch dogs on TV, if I need a fix.
About the writer:
SD Craig is a freelance writer and editor of LovingYourCurves.com and was given the nickname “Chatterbox” by fellow writers. At age fifty, Craigs Southern flair and sense of humor give her plenty to write about with a rapier wit and a wacky outlook. Her articles on body image (her biggest passion), marriage/divorce and relationships, family, friends, career issues, computers, the Internet, horses, baseball, movie reviews and writing tips remind one of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A freelance writer who once juggled five columns then got real, Craig welcomes your e-mails and feedback on her articles. Drop her a hello at firstname.lastname@example.org or stop by www.lovingyourcurves.com.