I was born in Ashland City, TN.
My Mother was a wild woman, living an un-caged life, overweight, and muddy, somewhat odiferous, always fun and protective.
My father was a pedigree as well as mom (although you would not have guessed it), however, my father was a no show. Rumor has it that he had a lot of Girlfriends.
Living on the farm as a puppy could be fun and dangerous at the same time. Playing with chickens, dodging cow hoofs, getting lost in the cornfields, and challenging my siblings for attention and food was exhausting.
The room I lived in was in the family’s ranch house, although it didn’t smell much better than my cousin’s barn accommodations. The farmer’s wife cared for us. Although she was hearty and rough, (with callused hands) she bathed and groomed us incessantly so some very deep-pocketed family could adopt us.
“Come on kids, we have visitors; two northerners who talk funny and wear pressed clothes.” They entered and started grinning as soon as we appeared on their site.
Although I feared being separated from my siblings and the unrestricted, wild life of home, I did recognize that in this next chapter of my life I could be a princess. So I warmed up to them, and put on my adorable puppy persona.
They picked me from several of my siblings and negotiated an outrageous adoption fee. This immediately told me my life, as a princess was ordained.
On my way to my new home, I am determined to be more than a princess; I am to become the Queen of Scout Drive.
I imagined my self in a King size bed, and all my personal grooming and hygiene needs becoming my new family’s priority.
The first couple of nights were a nightmare.
The accommodations were totally unacceptable. I didn’t slide around in their pristine car on the way to our estate to end up in a gilded cage. So now the battle for sleeping rights was on. I howled and carried on all night long; as soon as they came to inspect and see if their investment was ok, I calmed down and put on my puppy demeanor. I tried to escape the cage; however it was no use; these people are experienced zookeepers.
The lights go out and wait till they are comfortably back in bed, and I let out another round of my vocal ammunition. This goes on for two nights; my throat is raw, their eyes are red, their hands are shaky. Stage one of my strategy is working.
On the third night, they think bringing the cage into their bedroom and playing Mantovani is going to work. Wrong, my prey is now in closer hearing range.
On the fourth night progress is being made, although not entirely up to my expectations. They set up this plush semi-circular bed (which probably cost them some decent bucks) and grin from ear to ear as they gently put me in my new bed and talk baby talk to me.
Not on your life, this is not the big picture, which is joining the two of them on their king-size Beauty Rest. After four nights of arduous training, they finally get the picture and acquiesce.
My diminutive 4-pound, fluffy body allows a multitude of sleeping opportunities. Fortunately, they each sleep with two giant pillows. I usually adopt the back pillows against the headboards and switch from side to side depending on who has to take a wiz at night. Sometimes I nest further down on the bed between them and use certain body parts as my personal pillows. Of course, the danger, is rollovers; these are hefty people with big behinds; I don’t want either one of them getting up with me embedded there.
Recognizing and growing my food pallet.
I am a Maltese, descended from ancient Greek and Roman times, where wine and cheese and gourmet vitals were abundant in households who could afford the pleasure of a Maltese’s company.
My food has to be organic, with no fillers and artificial flavors.
Food training these two city slickers was easy. You sit in a strategically located corner of the kitchen, at the time the food you like is being prepared and stare them down with that enduring, guilt processing look until they realize your gourmet preferences.
Atlantic fresh-caught salmon, soft and moist, shredded and mixed with my organic kibble, is a favorite. Light, fluffy scrambled eggs sporadically placed with my dry food will do for breakfast. Green apples are appalling, red apples work for me as well as small samplings of authentic Georgia peach. However, I must confess, I lose my cool when it comes to homemade popcorn; I’m not beyond sticking my head in the bag as my tail wags so hard I think my rear end will fall off.
My demand for privacy during go times.
As opposed to most canines, open fields, neighbors. lawns, vacant lots, and fire hydrants, I consider gosh. My business is done indoors on soft, absorbent pads; it’s the only civilized way to relieve oneself. Besides, tall grass tickles me in unmentionable places. The pads are changed a couple of times a day, enabling me to keep my paws a safe distance from any previous excretions.
My go place base is on the left wall partially down the side of the sunroom. Getting these enablers to create some privacy for me was easy. I would make a little noise, spin around, crouch my backside down in the go position, and then turn my head sideways towards them with an embarrassed, pleading look in my eyes.
It worked; I now have this majestic five-foot-tall, four-section privacy screen, which not only provides some modicum of decorum but also keeps visitors from using or viewing my facilities.
My enablers give me a treat when I do number two on the pad, thinking they are training me. It’s the other way around. Reverse psychology enables me to get a treat for what comes naturally. All I have to do is an end-run around the privacy screen, power walk through the kitchen into the living room, stop and stare at them.
I walk them once a day.
We walk for exercise as well as for socializing. I start out with a jolt of speed, so they now have to chase after me, and then I suddenly stop when they least expect it. Sometimes to assess my surroundings, sometimes just to keep them off trajectory. Sometimes for a treat, or to let neighbors go on and on about how cute I am, all basically to show my enablers, who is in command.
They still haven’t learned that other species of my kind are not relevant. I am not generally fond of dogs. Either they are aggressive like their enablers, or they smell like them. If my relatives are small, they jump around like they have attention deficit disorder or worse; they embarrassingly stick their nose in my business. Talk about embarrassing species, I mean, really!
The only exception is Buddy, my aging, gentle, sweet boyfriend. He calms my nerves and is never aggressive or inappropriate with me. Buddy was a rescue and has some hang-ups with fast-moving vehicles; whether it’s a bike or a car, he becomes the Road Runner and has to be corralled. At a block party, he de-shoed a bicyclist who was speeding down the hill outside our house. As the whole neighborhood was trying to catch Buddy, he spotted me in the front doorway, at which point he did a double take and came to swoon over me.
Protecting the family.
Even though I am now only 7 lbs., my capability as a watchdog is shockingly effective. Biting a 250 intruder is not my style; however my pre-warning barking system is incredibly effective. I perch myself on the top of the living room couch and bark at anyone walking by. It’s especially fun to run the length of the house from window to southern style window and bark at the top of my lungs. Even though this is unnerving to my enablers, it has allowed me to establish street creds and serves as a reminder to them about household seniority.
Greeting guests.
This is my favorite. I jump up and greet them like we were long lost, friends. I go from one to the other and don’t calm down until they sweet-talk me. Many of them have learned gently rubbing the back of my ears goes a long way with me. Or having me wrapped around their neck like a scarf, where I can control them and view the other visitors. Sneaking a little treat from the table for me doesn’t hurt either. You guessed it; I’m a little needy.
Going to the groomer while medicated.
Looking adorable takes a crew. My enabler brushes my teeth almost every morning, and applies eye stain, eliminating that clown; raccoon look so common amongst my peers. Monthly grooming is horrendous; I scream, wiggle, and shout all the way there. To calm my independent nature, the veterinarian prescribed some tranquilizers for me, which temporarily puts me in la, la land.
You realize I’m put in a harness, in front of other canines, and while completely exposed, they bathe me and take the sheers to me. I might as well be in a three-ring-circus; it’s degrading but a necessary sacrifice. It’s all worth the process, especially when the enablers pick me up and fawn all over me; their guilt is worth every second of humiliation. They really should hire a personal groomer to come to the house. As you might have guessed, I’m working on it.
Mike Rosen 2.18.2021
Photo: Mike Rosen
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