An Open Letter to My Mother’s Chihuahua

Dear DaiBee,

You are a wee thing with many contradictions. It is my hope that you can help me to sort some of these in speedy fashion.
Hopefully these things can be resolved with minimal brain power on my part. Seven days with you has exhausted me.

1. You will only eat one kibble at a time, and then, only if your food has been topped with Sprocket kibble. You turn up your nose at fresh cucumber, pomegranate seeds, and blueberries, all of which Sprocket eats with impunity. And yet, you will happily gnaw at a petrified piece of fig on the ground, right next to your own poo. You’ll eat it particularly quickly if some other creature (bird, raccoon, squirrel) has taken its share and then discarded it. Same goes for random seed pods. Don’t look away. You know what I’m talking about.

Also, you are terrified of ice cubes in your own water bowl. If it is in your bowl it is safe to eat. How can I help you to understand?

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2. You yap yap yap for no particular reason, and then, when shown the thing that is making the noise that made you yap, you stand stock still and refuse to go anywhere. This is not normal behavior. You have HUGE EYES. Can you not see these things are not bothering you?

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2a. You don’t do anything without scurrying–freaky little claws on my laminate floor–and yet, when we go to walk you, you sometimes lock your legs and refuse to move. This is not good. This makes your walks very short because they take a REALLY LONG TIME.

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3. You are so little. And SO loud.

4. When you see something you are afraid of, you stand in the middle of the street. (???)

5. You need to pee at 4:27 every morning. (This is not a contradiction; this is just weird.)

6. You are growing on me, like a fungus. But if I counted the number of times you annoyed me, they would probably just about even out the number of times you have been sweet.

I think that is enough for now. When you have sorted yourself out, you are more than welcome to all the shriveled figs in our backyard. But don’t blame me if you’re out there, chewing on some dried fig, and you end up a snack for the rock doves.

Love

Auntie Yi Shun

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Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.

One Response to An Open Letter to My Mother’s Chihuahua
  1. Elsa Cade says:

    Awwwww!

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