Since Hound Dog decided to go the way of the Rainbow Bridge, Shelly and I decided to bless ourselves with Taco. Shelly decided more than me. Taco, as some of you know is the rotten little bit that we adopted from the Pikes Peak Region Humane Society. Technically he's a Chihuahua. In reality he's all the "I'll get back at you for that" Karma that I have hanging in the universe. Since Patch Dog is still on the top of Shelly's list as far as dogs go, Taco must stay home each morning when they go to Phoenix Ranch to feed the other dogs. Since I avoid kennel chores as much as possible, Taco has to hang with me. I'm beginning to wonder what is worse. I may suddenly have the urge to scoop poo at 9000 ft. where the O2 particles are moving slow and the smell of melted canine feces hover around 5ft 2in or right under my nose. We brought the little bugger home on July 1st and I've yet to get a decent picture of him. He's either looking for some baseboard to pee on, having a sneezing fit, or he's licking the lens of my camera. The peeing thing is...UGH! I'm old, I've not the patience for potty training something like him. He's knows he's wrong. I don't raise my voice. I stoop over to scoop him up so that I can take him and his fire hose outside. Instead, he darts around, jumps around, yips and neglects to shut off the nozzle. I try to catch him, but like I said I'm old. He's too zippy, too darty. The sneezing thing...well, have you heard me sneeze? It's not one or two sneezes. It's a consecutive series of at least 12. I get annoyed when people try to bless me once for every sneeze. I don't bless Taco, I figured he should feel blessed enough living here in our zoo. It's annoying though. I know it will pass, he ended up with a bit of the flu from the pound. He was quarantined for a bit from the rest of the kiddos and he's been on antibiotics as well. The sneezing continues. The last sneeze in the series is usually followed by a big sniff that draws the dangling booger back up into his nose. AND...the licking of the lens thing, to be blunt, it just pisses me off. I have to stop and clean up the slobber and by the time I'm done, he's either gone or right back to licking. Some of the cats are so annoyed with him they don't even bother to hiss at him.
I just don't click with the "Paris Hilton Purse" type of dogs. Virus is smaller than the others but I guess I've just adjusted to him or he's adjusted to me. I have lost Virus. I jetted out the door to swim practice once and somehow folded him up in the footrest of the recliner. He must have been snoozing because he usually yelps when you give him a dirty look. No matter about Virus. Taco is completely different. I think Peep Kitty outweighs him. Taco is needy and follows me everywhere. I constantly hear his nails tick-tick-tickity on the floors. When I turn to look for him, he turns too and I find myself spinning in circles. He tries to sit on my head when I'm in the chair with the laptop. Shelly allows him in the coop with the layer chickens, he chases Homer the Roo and the girls commence to flapping about. I hate flapping chickens. Flapping chickens make me flap about and scream and loose any sense. The dog makes me act a fool.
Today, I exited the sliding doors downstairs with intent to water the dogs, the normal sized dogs. Taco of course followed. He buzzed around my feet, kind of growled at the ducks, and got stepped on by Hamlet. I finished with my chore, checked on my raggedy tomato plants and went back inside. I must have suppressed the tick-tick-tickity noise or at least thought I had. I went about my "to do list" for the day and didn't give the darn fuzz ball another thought. That was until I was packing up the Tahoe to go to town. I realized that I needed to tuck him in his kennel. I couldn't find the rat. He wasn't sleeping in the recliner. Wasn't peeing on the baseboard. He wasn't eating or harassing the blind chicken or the rabbits. I didn't accidentally lock him in the bathroom. He wasn't in the house. I then realized that I hadn't been annoyed since I was outside. I had no hope that he's been seized by a bear. It was only about 1030 in the morning and the Smokeys don't usually come out that early. I went in search of him, calling and rounding the house. No Taco. No Taco in the shed, in Bertha and Drago's yard, the duck pen, or Izzy and Hamlet's yard. He wasn't at the chicken coop or down at the barn. My throat was beginning to become irritated from calling. The ranch is 90 acres, to a normal sized dog it would be just right. To a Taco dog, it was like the vast expanse of the Serengeti Plain. I was starting to think of stories to tell Shelly. We have had a fox or something stealing chickens. I also thought of the little white dog in the movie "The Proposal" getting swooped up by an eagle. Maybe Taco was just too tempting for a hawk. After checking out every place I thought he'd be, I gave up and decided that I needed to get going to town. I headed back to the house to find him laying on the front door mat. I scolded him sternly for worrying me. He didn't flinch. I stepped over him and went back to packing my tote. After several minutes I glanced over at him and he was still there, in the same position. I thought now would be the time to get Carmen (the camera) and see if I could get him in an album. I got the lens cap off and was able to snap ONE shot before he was up and lunging at the lens. UGH! I tried to get Hamlet to explain the proper behavior expected when Carmen is out, but to no avail. Taco refuses.
I just don't understand small dogs.