Rascal Whitt is one of the happiest, cuddly-est, smoochy-est pooches I’ve ever met: totally still a puppy at heart, even though he’s ackshully a 6-anna-haff-year-old, 50-pound pit bull, with a hansome brindle coat, frenly brown eyes, huge smile, white chest and narrow white stripe, ears-to-snoot.
Rascal was onna leesh when his Mom opened the door, which was a good thing cuz he was SO excited to see me an my assistant he probly wudda knocked us right over outta sheer ex-ZOOBER-unce.
“HI! Hello! Come IN! Is that your NOTEbook, where you’re gonna write about ME? With my PICK-shur even? I’m Rascal. Mom changed it from my shelter name – Wiggle Butt, Thank Lassie! This is her, Lynn. My cat sister Luna’s around here somewhere. Wudja like some WADDER? Let’s go sit down, OK? I smell SNACKS!”
An off he went to the living room, where there was a nice couch an PILL-ows. We followed.
My assistant was already rootin’ around in The Satchel for the snacks Rascal had sniffed out, pullin’ on the leash while his Mom attempted to keep his face outta The Satchel, at last retree-vin’ a duh-LISCH-us bacon snack. Rascal very gently accepted it an POOF! it was gone. With a big smile, he began givin’ My Assistant happy kisses and nudges and, of course, My Assistant laughed an friffled Rascal’s ears an gave him liddle pats on the head.
“I’m SO happy to meet you both, Rascal. Your coat is Totally Crispy Biscuits! So, when YOU’RE ready, I’M ready to hear your tail.”
“Cool Kibbles! Here goes!” he said, climbing (mostly) onto his Mom’s lap with his head on her shoulder.
“So it was about 5-6 years ago: Mom was in My-Ami at the time an she hadda girl Pit, Molly.
(She’s in Dog Heaven now.) But back then, Mom decided she wanted another one to keep Molly cump-nee, an she wanted it to be a rescue Pit Bull. But she thought she’d wait till they moved to here, which they did pretty soon.
“Then Mom an my Few-cher Human Brother Jeffrey went to lotsa shelters to find The Perfect Pooch, but, no luck. Finally, Mom decided to try the Humane Society one more time.
Well, turns out, I’d been there the whole time but I was inna back room cuzza havin’ some Health ISH-yous they hadda fix. Mom knew I was The Pooch, even though I was still real skinny, only 50 pounds, an kinda forlorn. I was probly about 6 months-to-a-year-old they figured. See, I’d been rescued, Thank Lassie, from bein’ left alone tied up outside.”
“Oh for Lassie’s Sake,” I sympathized. “That’s AWE-ful, Rascal!”
“Yeah. But I lucked out, fur sure: Mom put a duh-POZIT on me, an the Humane Society humans got me all spiffed up an Mom an Jeffrey brought me to my Furever Home.”
“What was your new life like at first?”
“Me an Molly got along right away. (I’ve always been a priddy laid back Poocheroo with all fellow cree-churs.) But I AM totally a Mama’s Boy, I’m not afraid to admit. (Well, ’cept when Jeffrey came home for the summer, I stuck with him preddy much like GLOO. Just hung out doin’ Guy Stuff, ya know.)”
“Totally,” I agreed.
“Then, of course, since I was still sorta puppy-ish, I did have this Chewin’ Thing: pillows, FURN-uh-chur, rug corners. An squeaky stuffies. I’d chew the stuffin’s outta ’em, an then chew the squeakers. This one time, Mom noticed I was havin’ a Really Bad Tummy Ache, so she rushed me to the VET. They checked me out end-to-end and took a PICK -shur of my insides an, guess what? I’d swallowed an Entire Squeaker an I hadda BLOCK-udge, whatever that is. So I hadda have SUR-gery! I almost Bought The Doghouse!”
“OH, WOOF! Rascal! That’s Scary!” I exclaimed.
“It WAS! But I fer sure don’t chew stuff that isn’t my Designated Food or my Chew Bone, anymore.”
“Any fave foodstuffs?” I queried.
“FROZEN CARROTS! Also cucumbers and blueberries. An WADER-melon! When Mom’s makin’ a SAL-ud, I’m Right There!”
“Whaddya do for fun?”
“We havva nice fenced back yard so, when I get the Zoomies, I go outside and, well, ZOOM.
Luna usually comes with me an does that mysterious ZEN stuff cats do. We also sit inside, by the window, an watch the squirrels an birds at the bird feeder. I get bored faster than Luna does.
“OO, an, every week, usually WINS-day, I go to Paw Prints. I take lessons an I can do SIT, DOWN an, sometimes, STAY (I don’t know why I hafta STAY). I like Mr. Drew an I havva few Pooch Pals there. I also do what’s called BOARD there when Mom’s ELSEwhere. It just means stay overnight for a liddle while.”
“Do you like ridin’ in cars? Swimmin’?”
“I’m a nervous car-rider, but I like where we end UP. I DON’T like WADDER ’cept in my bowl, or playin’ in the hose with Mom. I do let her give me a bath in the shower, but I don’t ackshully LIKE it.”
“Err, how about, do you ever wear, ummm, clothes,” I ventured.
“That’d be a NO. Mom got me these colorful PJ’s when it got a liddle cold, but …”
His Mom got up an left the room and Rascal said, “Oh, NO!”
She returned holdin’ bright red and green PJ’s with arms an legs, clearly speshully made for pooches. She began to place Rascal’s paws in the paw holes but he wiggled, an she finally gave up. I was laughin’ behind my paw cuz I couldn’t help myself.
“I don’t THINK so,” Rascal said, leavin’ no room for doubt. “However, I think Luna an I look very On Trend together. See, she’s a calico and her fur has the same colors as mine. We MATCH! Now THAT is stylish!”
Headin’ home, I was visualizing what Rascal’d ackshully look like in his festive red PJ’s. I couldn’t help but smile. Then I started thinkin’ about WADDER-melon.
