Her name is Ryleigh--the little girl with the plumbing problem. She's a tiny thing, but big on wet kisses and leaving puddles on the floor. And she's a bit spastic. Ummm...let me rephrase that...she's a Yorkie and she's flippin' nuts!
After graduating from ASU and the completion of his Disney internship, our son moved home. With an over-saturated job market, he struggled finding work, had nowhere except his bedroom to call his own, his buddies were in Phoenix or Los Angeles and he decided he wanted a dog. His forte is PR and I swear that kid can talk the feathers off a duck, but I held my ground with more than one emphatic "NO".
One Friday, a new batch of puppies appeared online, each one decked out in a pink or blue ribbon. Against my wishes and hundredth "NO", he called. The breeder said he was the first to call so he would have the pick of the litter. Again, I said no. He told the breeder he'd be there in a couple of hours. His father went with him (he's a teacher, a MAN, and a Pisces). Do men ever listen?
Ryleigh is certifiably crazy, runs (she doesn't know how to walk) a hundred miles an hour, and is much too smart. I taught her to "sit" in thirty minutes, but her idea of remaining in the sitting position lasts a whopping 2.5 seconds. If we're lucky. "Off" is a game--jumping "on" whatever you've told her to get "off" of again and again, including my lap which is easy access for a lightning fast French kiss. I'm not as quick as she is and never will be, thus I shall never want for a double dose of Yorkie slobber. She learned to "speak" in forty minutes flat. My bad. Now she speaks fluent human and carries on...and on...mostly during a time when concentration is of utmost importance. Go figure.
A cat burglar she's not (we don't own a cat)--and I knew better than to let her any where near my closet. And I should never have opened the door to the UPS guy when I didn't know where she was. For a tail that's nothing more than a stub, it wagged fiercely as she proudly laid a pair of my panties at my feet. Dang she was proud! I can still feel the heat crawling up my neck.
During our bathroom remodel, the mold remediation people quarantined our bathroom with plastic which had zippers to get in and out. When Ryleigh heard the zipper, all four cylinders clicked into high gear and off she'd fly, through the opening, steal something of our contractor's that wasn't heavier than she was, and be back before we realized she was gone! Didn't take us long to figure out why our contractor charged us for pencils, tile markers and knee pads. I think he felt bad asking us if we had any extra rags. A whole pile, as a matter of fact.
Squeaky toys run a close second to beetles. She plops them at my feet, yips faintly (thank goodness), looks at me, then the toy, me-toy-me-toy--I'm sure you get the picture--a five pound walking, talking bobble-head. And I'm certain of one thing--she doesn't sleep. She's recharging for the next go around.
Do dogs suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder? Just askin'.
For once, I'm glad he turned a deaf ear.
Because, despite all her excess energy and all the little puddles--I fell in love.
Until next time--
Happy Reading, Happy Writing
Dog and Poo cartoon courtesy of Grant Cochrane www.freedigitalphotos.com