The Heart of a Wolf

When I arrived home from work today, I noticed a young lady standing by her car. As I walked by, her purse yipped at me and I thought it passing strange until I realized that she had a tiny Chihuahua in there.

Now, I do like dogs. I grew up in the country and we always seemed to have two or more dogs at any given time, despite my dad’s best efforts at running them over.

NOTE: My dad was a terrible driver and he did, in fact, hit and kill three of our dogs over the course of my young life. He felt terrible about it every time, but big truck + darting dogs = occasional accident. He did once get mugged by a deer though, so there’s a certain symmetry.

Where was I? Oh yes . . .

So, I was walking by and this little, tiny, fly-speck of a dog, in a valiant effort to protect his mistress, yipped at me. And I suddenly felt really bad for the thing.

This Chihuahua’s ancestors were wolves. Big, strong animals that hunted deer and bison and insurance salesman. These were the animal equivalent of a biker gang. When they rolled through the woods, everybody boarded up their shops and hid, ‘cause somebody was gonna get eaten. Just picture Marlon Brando in The Wild Ones as a wolf and you get the idea.

No, wait, that’s dumb. Don’t do that.

My point is that inside this Chihuahua beat the heart of a wolf. It didn’t know it was just a tiny fashion accessory. Deep down, it was a hundred pounds of growling, snarling, Harley riding, chain-smoking, leather-wearing, skirt-chasing, steak-with-a-side-of-steak eating badass.

In that moment, I reconsidered everything I ever thought about Chihuahuas and other yippy dogs. They can’t help it. Their savage nature calls out to them, but they’re stuck wearing sweaters and peeing when they get over-excited. It’s not their fault that they were bred down to fun-size. They yearn for the hunt and the open woods, blissfully unaware that the average squirrel could beat them up and take their lunch money.

Seriously, squirrels would totally do it. When you’ve been at the bottom of the food chain for as long as they have, you take your cheap shots when you can.

And so, I hereby apologize to Chihuahuas and all the other tiny, yippy dogs out there for all the mean things I’ve said about them over the years. Also, sorry about that whole ‘breeding you into McNuggets with legs’ thing.

Could you please stop yipping now?

Cheers,
-Jason

Pets: Part 1

I have always had pets. I grew up in the country and so we usually had a whole pack of dogs and the odd cat, as well as horses, goats, sheep, and a variety of other furry critters.

As I said, we had both dogs and cats. If pressed, however, I would have to say I’m a dog person. I spent hours romping around the countryside with our dogs. We played fetch, and chased each other, and had the odd game of Battleship, which I generally won, though Muffin could hold her own (I suspect she cheated).

And dogs, frankly, are nature’s sidekicks. They’re the happy Robin to your Batman. The Speedy to your Flash. The Superboy to your Superman. The Aqua . . . did Aquaman have a sidekick? Was there an Aqualad or Kid Squid? If so, wow, talk about losing the hero lottery.

Anyway, dogs look up to you. It’s like having a best friend who’s somewhat dim and poops on the lawn. Dogs are perfectly happy, nay enthusiastic, to do whatever you want to do. All you have to do is feed ‘em, scratch their bellies and keep your shoes out of reach and you’re golden.

Tomorrow: Part 2