I became a dog owner at 26 years old and have always had dogs. And I was a big dog person. 100 pounds, 70 pounds and the “smallest” was 50 pounds. I didn’t care for little dogs – no interest in them. They were yappy and meant for ladies who wore heels to go shopping. Not for me. When my daughter wanted a little bischon-shih tzu puppy I was opposed. I never wanted a little dog. I was a big dog person. But she was struggling with high school pressures and I finally gave in. We got our little dog.
I looked down on this little white puff ball. I noticed his wee little black nose, his black eyes set against the white curly fur, his mouth curve like a sting ray’s smile. I saw his tiny little feet and heard the tapping of his toe nails across the tile floor. His floppy ears flung up and down when he tore across the back yard chasing a frisbee. He stared into my eyes when I carried him up the stairs for bedtime.
Children’s emotions fill them up – toe to finger to top of the head. ” Happy or sad, it is all encompassing. “I love him,” I said as everything under my skin became packed with child-joy. I loved all my dogs, but this was different. Within 10 months we had another little dog – a shih tzu-poodle we named Bea. They love me, and tolerate my affection when it is excessive. I don’t think they realize how excessive it is compared to others – I honestly don’t know how they react. In the meantime, they ignorantly indulge my playtimes. At least they’ll never see me grocery shopping in high heels.