Knowing that I was sad at losing the Big White Dog, Judy at Ali’i vet suggested I might want to take on a puppy, so Peg and Burny and I went down the look. Sweetest little thing you ever saw, wriggling with delight to meet us, and just crawling with fleas. The runt of the litter. So despite my common sense, how could I resist?
My aunt Ruth and uncle Floyd kept a series of chihuahuas, and while this one was by no means a pure-bred it was certainly a member of the clubs. Ruth’s and Floyd’s chihuahuas specialized on stealth ankle attacks and, if you evaded those, they used the needles they kept in place of teeth to attach themselves to your pants and get dragged around the house, muttering hateful threats and imprecations. And each one was as big around as a bologna. A big balogna.
I brought her home and de-fleaed her, and cuddled her, and she made much of me, and we had a fine old time together until a few days went by and she started to chew her way through what remains of my wardrobe, through my shoes, through furniture (I still have teethmarks on my computer desk) and, eventually, my patience. We found a home for her with a pack of chihuahuas, who welcomed her with glad little yips. And I went back to missing my cat Jack.