Hello, Pet Buddies!
Do you remember that TV commercial where the chihuahua says “Yo quiero Taco Bell”? Sassy little mutt, I always thought. But I hadn’t had much face time with an actual chihuahua – until last week.
That’s when my assistant scheduled an interview with Charlie and Sheba Kirkland and their human mom, Lori. I’d heard they were both purebreds and, well, sometimes that kinda pup comes with a lot of ‘tude, you know?
But not these two. They greeted me at the door like little furry jumping beans, boinging all over the place and yapping in that way little dogs do. Their ears seemed like they were two sizes larger than their bodies, and I wondered if they ever toppled over when the wind caught them.
“Wow, Bonzo,” yapped Sheba, a black and tan, and obviously the more talkative one. “We’ve been so excited to meet you! I’m Sheba! Isn’t that a cool name? I’m 4! This is our house! That’s my toy duck! That’s our mom! That’s my little step-brother Charlie! He’s only 3.”
“Hi, Mr. Bonzo,” yapped cream-and-tan Charlie, a bit rounder than Sheba. He was wagging his tail to beat the band and I couldn’t help but notice he only wagged up and down, not sideways. I tried not to stare, but it was really strange – and cool.
I wagged my friendliest wag. “Nice to meet you. So, Charlie, where’d you get that pawsome tail action?”
“I’ve always had it,” he said. “My human dad Ronald calls me Pistol Pete. I think it comes from my royal bloodline.”
“Oh, poo,” said Sheba. “He’s so-oo full of dog biscuits! I think someone just stepped on his tail when he was a pupster.”
With that, Sheba boinged into the next room and bounced herself onto a big table, which had all sorts of paint and brushes and paper all over it, and a little comfy-looking dog bed. She plopped herself into it and looked down at me with a big, silly grin. “I am an ar-teest. Or, rather, our mom is. THIS is our studio, and I am her muse.”
“Ummm …” I said cleverly. I had no clue what she was yapping about.
Charlie had followed us into the studio. “Oh, don’t get her started!” he said as hea rolled his boogly eyes.
“When mom feels creative (which is all the time), she picks me up and snuggles,” Sheba explained, “and she asks me what I think she should create next. I am her inspiration! I sit here and supervise while she paints things. I come from a looong line of registered show dogs. I cost a lot of money because I’m a toy chihuahua and I have Papers! I always have to watch my weight.” She sat up – as up as a little teacup pup can get – and crossed her tiny paws.
Charlie bounced back into the living room to find his mom. “Mom just got us some great new dog food. It comes in long rolls and has sweet potatoes and carrots! I love it, but Sheba won’t touch it. So dad has to hand-feed her. Scheesh. It makes me want to go out in the yard and eat grass.”
“I feel for you, man,” I sympathized. “So, what’s your story?”
“Well,” he said, sitting on his mom’s foot, “I was supposed to be a toy, but,” he looked down at his sort of plump self, “I grew. So mom only had to pay $200 for me. But she wouldn’t trade me for anything. I am waaay more affectionate and cuddly than Sheba. She can be a real diva. And when she wears her red velvet ruff with a sparkly Christmas tree pendant … well, I just go chew on my duck.”
“Whaddya do for fun?” I asked, changing the subject.
“We go out in the yard and play. We have our own doggie door. And when family comes over, we play with our cousin, Chloe. She’s a pit bull.”
There went my hackles.
“I know,” Charlie said. “When I first met her, I sort of freaked out and hightailed it under the sofa. But she turned out to be an OK pooch, and now we all play together here. But we stay home. We don’t go to the Bark Park, just to the vet’s and the salon to have our nails and fur groomed. And we really, really love our beds and our fluffy blankets. We have a good life, Bonzo.”
It looks like you do, Charlie, old buddy. It sure looks like you do!
Til Next Time,