Asi Son Los Perritos
I tracked poop through my living room, up the stairs and into my office yesterday. And then, I tracked it all the way back before I noticed.
I did not get upset. I just cleaned it up and went on with my bliss.
The caca came from the 8-week-old Malti Tzu we adopted Wednesday, a gift for our 6-year-old, Maria.
I am in new mom love, as this is the first little perrito I ever have raised. (We’ll get to the German Shepherds of my childhood later.) This guy, whom Maria named Buddy, looks like a battery-powered wool duster. He wiggles and hops and fetches and oh dear goodness, I am annoying myself with my own glow. My sister-in-law said last night she may make me a little sling for Buddy. Don’t think I didn’t already consider breaking out Maria’s old Maya Wrap, let me tell you.
Maria too is in love. She is attempting to get him to sit, but he just licks her hand. She gives him the treat anyway. Que malcriado he is going to be. (My husband, by the way, says he looks like a gerbil.)
We got a puppy for her for lots of reasons, with the main ones being that our Only Child would benefit from the companionship and from having someone she can boss around. (After reading all the breed descriptions, I have determined that if my daughter were a dog, she’d be a Terrier. I would be too, so we went with a breed that wants nothing more than to please and love.)
When I was growing up in Miami, we had two German Shepherds who didn’t last long. One got sick and died. The second one, Happy, used to high jump to the clothes line, grab my dad’s underwear, shake them and bury them. One day, Happy went to a “farm.” I have questioned my parents about that. A farm in Miami? Really? But they insist some guajiro in Perrine, where we lived then and before it was hugely developed, got Happy and was overjoyed to have the crazy, untrained beast that was Happy.
The Shepherd who lived next door to us back then was named Sucio (Dirty). He was a loping, lazy dog and I so loved hearing the neighbor lady yell Sucio! Sucio! out the back door.
My grandparents had two dogs, Troy, a Terrier mix, and Toby, a Shepherd mix. They lived outside and my grandmother stood between them with an old broomstick during meal times. A neighbor of theirs recently told me he used to see my grandparents wipe the dogs bottoms regularly. Only Crazy Cubans wipe the bottoms of outdoor dogs.
But, of course, I called a friend with a male Shih Tzu yesterday and asked her whether I was supposed to wipe Buddy’s wet wee wee after he went pee. She laughed at me. Well, given my grandparents and the dog butt wiping they did, I come by this honestly, I told her.
Ah, whatever. It is a snow day here today. I am in my wool socks and thick sweater. There’s a fire in the hearth. The kid is happy and the puppy is napping.
There’s bliss going on. Pure Puppy Breath-Smelling Bliss.
Even if there is remainder poop on my chancleta.