I’m pretty sure Pixie Hadley is the liddlest pooch I’ve ever met. She sent me a Woofmail a while back wonderin’ whether I’d be innerested in interviewing her. Of course I would, so we set it up.
I was especially intrigued cuz she said she was from a place I’d never heard of – Far-Go, North Duh-coda – and she was also a breed I’d never heard of – a Mini Miki (which made me think of those two mouse movie stars). So I got busy and Googled.
I think it’s called Far-Go cuz you hafta go really far to get there. You go wa-ay up, then you turn left and go way farther. And you should bring lunch an a sweater. Anyway, then I Googled Mini Mikis and found out they were only invented in the ’80s, an humans consider ’em rare.
They look like a cross between a Japanese Chin, a Maltese an a Papillon. (Didja know Papillon is French for ‘butterfly,’ an Papillon pooches have big fluffy, fringy ears that ackshully look like butterfly wings, which Pixie’s totally do. They’re SO cute.)
So, we rang the bell, heard some barks, then the door opened and out she pranced for the Wag-a-Sniff like she was in the ring at Westminster, this liddle white an gold poocheroo, Big Sparkly Eyes, those butterfly ears and a fluffy curvy tail. Woof!
“Oh, goody, it’s Mr. Bonzo! Hello, Mr. Bonzo! I’m Pixie Hadley and this is my Mom Doris an my Dad Steve. I’m so excited you answered my Woofmail! I’m a liddle nervous cuz I never had an innerview before. So, come’on, let’s go sit down.”
An off she trotted, into the living room. This was gonna be fun.
“No need to be nervous,” I assured her as we got settled. “Just tell how you found your Mom an Dad, an a liddle about your life, too. I must say you look like a Showdog.”
She giggled. “I get that a lot. Most of us are, I think. Mom had seen a piksure of a Miki and thought it was the cutest poocheroo she’d ever seen. Then she saw a piksure of ME on my breeder’s Facebook page and called right away, but they were all out of puppies by then. Mom was bummed, but then the lady said she had one pooch left, ME, but I was 8 months old (most humans buyin’ purebreds want liddle puppies). She said me an my sister had been adopted by a lady in Dallas, but the lady went to heaven an we went back to the breeder. Then my sister was adopted an moved to New York City. So there I was. Well, Mom didn’t care that I wasn’t a liddle puppy. She just wanted a smart, cute, quiet pooch – which I was. The minute we saw each other We KNEW!”
“Cool Dog Biscuits,” I exclaimed.
“Totally. So Mom flew out to Far-Go and picked me up an off we went. I didn’t know where I was going but I knew I was on an adVENture. We flew back home to Missouri an I got to travel a lot with Mom on her job, an do a lotta fun stuff. Then we moved to Florida an Mom and Dad met each other. Dad had a Lab called Essie. Mom an Dad an Me an Essie hit it off right away. So we all Got Married. Everything was great. Then Essie went to Dog Heaven. I still miss her a lot, but I’m happy here with my Mom and Dad.
“I’m totally chill with other animals: me an my neighbor Bella (a Maltese) yap back-an-forth through our screen-rooms. The cross-the-street neighbor cat Percy even stayed with us when her humans were away. We’re Cool Catnip with each other. But I like to hang with humans mostly. I have a bed in every room, an I get a lovely evening walk. If I’m too pooped (I just turned 13), Mom pushes me in my carriage so she can get her exercise. I don’t swim, but I like to float around on Mom’s air mattress. An I love my baths, ’specially the part where Mom dries me off with a warm, fluffy towel right out of the dryer. I get a kick outta watchin’ birds an squirrels an lizards, but I never chase ’em. Once, one of those big Sandhill Cranes squawked at me an flapped her wings cuz she hadda buncha babies, but I remained cool. I believe in Live an Let Live, don’t you?”
I nodded, deciding not to mention several squirrels of my acquaintance.
“I get treats, too! When Dad comes home, an when I Do My Doodie, an before bed. Soon as I hear Dad opening the treat bag, I zoom over an do pirouettes.”
Her Dad got out the treat bag and Pixie executed several graceful twirls. When she had daintily scarfed down her treat, she said, “Sometimes Mom forgets to microwave my dinner. Then I sit by my bowl an look at her, then at the bowl, then her, then the bowl … till she gets the hint. I mean, even though it’s only for 5 seconds, I think one’s meal should be served at precisely the right temperature to ensure maximum enjoyment, don’t you? Do you think that makes me spoiled?”
“Um, I, well, uh …” I responded suavely. “I noticed you’re not very barky. That’s sorta unusual for a pooch of your, well, your diminutive stature.”
“That’s true. I only bark at the doorbell. When Dad can’t find me, he just rings the doorbell, then follows the barks. Ackshully, I also bark when me an Dad are watchin’ the Chicago Bears on TV. But he barks wa-ay louder than me. Come’on out front, I’ll show you the special place Dad made me, Pixie’s Park.”
It was an enclosed semi-circle of hedge, with plants, bushes and toys for playin,’ sniffin’ and snoozin,’ an a secret path leading in. Pawsome!
Heading home, I was thinking of petite Pixie pirouetting for a Pup-Peroni, an wondering if I could increase my snack allotment by mastering that maneuver. Then I glanced down at my clumsy paws. Perhaps I’ll just stay with my Irresistible Spaniel Eyes.
Till next time,