Feed on

People grumble about little dogs.  I get it; sometimes they’re barky and overcautious and oh, the trembling.  But you wouldn’t say those germans: so stoic and humorless, and they never stop working, now would you?   (I’m german).

Dogs are as different from one another as you and I.  Pigeonhole them and you miss the richness.

We were at a party.  A little dog and her name was Jamie.  A rat terrier perhaps, or some kind of chihuahua mix?  She was captive on the second floor of her house while the humans schmoozed together down on the deck.

I always like to meet the pets, so we went to the bottom of the stairs and peered up at Jamie in the falling light of a late afternoon.  She shouted at us.  I saw something interesting and amusing and I liked her immediately.  After a bit she was released to the deck and after that, the party was on.

She hurried around briskly while we deconstructed her personality.   I ran through various emotional states in my mind but I just wasn’t getting it.  She wasn’t exactly fearful, nor was she showing guard dog tendencies .  .  .  the type and level of potential neurosis was up for debate but I did hit on one point:  this dog was misunderstood.  The couple agreed.

To and fro the little dog went.  She was determined, purposeful.  She acknowledged us all but clearly, she wasn’t there to be admired and petted.  She was up to something.

A couple of weeks later I took a more formal look at Jamie.  Right away I saw a diminutive English bobby scurrying about; organizing, giving instructions and keeping everyone in line.  Bleet-bleeeeeeet! The whistle, the gloves, that hat;  she gave it her all.

Of course!   The brisk efficiency.  The verbal commands.  Making eye contact with everyone then resuming one’s rounds.  Conscious of the children at the back of the yard.  This dog had a job and the job was to keep the household running smoothly.

This family will now come to order, please.




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