Chihuahua Mail

Yesterday on a dog group I belong to, one of the lovely ladies was saying how she was unable to find any pumpkin in her area. Store after store had not a single can of the stuff we all use to make pies and puddings, but she desperately needed it. Her vet had told her it was what her little chihuahua with some perpetually blocked anal glands needed in order to cleanse them naturally and effectively. Living in a rural area, I guess pumpkin is merely a seasonal foodstuff for her local stores. So to help her out, I went out and bought a couple of cans of organic pumpkin for her to freeze into tiny poop-inducing cubes that she could thaw as needed and add to her baby's meals.

And so this afternoon I found myself at the post office, mailing those cans to her. At the window I was asked if there was anything perishable in my package to which I replied, "yes." I was then asked what exactly the perishable item was and I explained that it was cans of pureed pumpkin. The man smiled as though he was thinking how tasty a slice of pumpkin pie would be, and I thought he was going to ask me if it was, in fact, for pies, but he didn't. And that's when it occurred to me how odd the real explanation would sound to a total stranger: "No, it's not for pie. I'm actually sending this to a little chihuahua in Kentucky with digestive issues."

Sometimes our lives take a truly absurd turn every now and again.

Photo courtesy of HelloMokona on flickr.

Vintage Chihuahua Manual

Another old owner's manual for chihuahuas. This one is from England and was published in 1968. It's chock full of ridiculous photos and some really ugly little dogs (but, to be fair, a handful of tiny cuties too). I've started a collection of old chihuahua books and photos as one can never have enough goofy chi memorabilia. They're usually good for a guaranteed laugh when you're feeling low. After all, what says "chihuahua" more than two small dogs sandwiched between two very predictable and heinously ugly (and giant!) Mexican book ends? I know I can't think of anything.

Edison's Birthday Bash Part II

The toys may be fun as hell, but nothing beats cake and the boys always get their own little cake to share (even though they barely make a dent in it before mommy tosses it- tiny tummies musn't overdo it). This year's cake was a white layer cake with vanilla buttercream icing and a lemon custard filling over which the boys went berserk, as any self-respecting dog would.

And once again, they came to the table dressed to party. It was rather rudely pointed out to me by a certain family member that this year's theme appears to be "gay cowboy" and while you might get that impression by looking at these photos, you'd be wrong. The theme was 'an ode to spring" (since Edison's birthday falls on the equinox, give or take a day or so), thus the straw hats with the hand painted flowers and whimsical hat bands. 'And the matching feathered boas?' you may well be asking. Sure, they may seem a bit flamboyant, but that's just my boys embracing their feminine sides as they express their joy at it finally not being a cold, gray winter anymore.

Happy birthday Edison Jack, and may you have a million more wonderful years!!!!

Edison's Birthday Bash Part I

Today was Edison's third birthday. I can not believe how fast time has flown by. It seems like just yesterday when a tiny bundle of brown fur made me fall instantly in love with him when he leaped into my arms at the breeder's house, gave me a tiny chi hug around my neck, and never let go. It was love at first sight for us both. Yet here we are, in the blink of an eye, at birthday number three.

There were less presents this year, not because the boys don't love them, but because daddy said the amount of dog toys in this house has become obscene, and he's unfortunately right. But that didn't mean that the gifts that the boys got (the non-birthday boy always gets something too so as not to feel left out) weren't greatly enjoyed. They were, with much tug of warring over them and chasing of one another around the house in a bid to snatch away a desired new toy.

There was oodles of doggie play fun before we moved on to cake.

Oscar the Cat

Oscar the cat is the subject of a book written by a nursing home doctor. And why exactly would a doctor be writing about a cat? Because this cat has a very special talent: he can predict when people are going to die. Oscar lives in a nursing home in Providence, Rhode Island and has, within the last five years, correctly predicted the deaths of 50 (rather unfortunate, if you ask me) residents. Earlier in his career as the feline Grim Reaper, Oscar was featured in the New England Journal of Medicine for curling up with 25 patients, all right before they passed away. The nursing home has given him a plaque commemorating his compassionate hospice work.

I have to say, if I worked at that nursing home I'd be afraid to even rest my eyes for a moment on my lunch hour because I would freak if Oscar curled up with me for my cat nap. And thank god Maia Louise is virtually indifferent to all of us here at home. I'm not sure I could handle her having this "special talent" or anything even remotely like it. How can anyone spend any time- and do it calmly- with any animal that can accurately predict the deaths of those around it? I know I couldn't. Some may see it as gently compassionate but to me it's just scary as hell.

Making Rounds With Oscar: The Extraordinary Gift of an Ordinary Cat, Dr. David Dosa, Hyperion, 2010.

Edison Up Close

PEEK-A-BOO!

Bram and Mouse

There's nothing quite like being utterly lost in the joy of your favorite toy.

Mrs. Nesbitt

Griffin has a new bedroom roommate and her name is Mrs. Nesbitt, also known as Nezzie. He was feeling rather down this past weekend so his girlfriend treated him to a guinea pig, as well as all the necessary accoutrements for said guinea pig. But it's never just the animal, is it? There are all the "other things" that the one small creature needs: the cage, the bedding, the food, the requisite hamster ball (or in this case, guinea pig ball) so she can travel about our house in the safety of a hard plastic orb, special treats, a small house, and toys. The guinea pig was on sale, which was wonderful. Everything else? Full price, naturally.

After spending some time meeting and greeting all the various rodents available, he chose Mrs. Nesbitt, not only because she was a very docile little lady (whereas all the other girls in the large cage were waging full-on war against one another) but because when Griffin had said he'd like to see the little gray one, the employee at the pet store said that he was the first and only person to ever show any interest in her in the few months she had been there. Apparently her ruby eyes were off-putting to literally everyone before him, something we both find really odd and very sad. From the get-go, he and Mrs. Nesbitt got on with one another like a house on fire. When a guinea pig bonds with a human, it whistles when it sees its favorite person and this behavior usually takes some time to develop, but Mrs. Nesbitt was chirping, cooing and singing to Griffin within moments.

There is nothing quite so satisfying, when one is feeling something missing from their life, in adding a new warm, furry creature, be it big or small. It fills the heart with joy and makes both the human and the hairy one more than content. And to keep things as joyous as they've been for these last five days, all I need to do is to keep Edison away from Mrs. Nesbitt. He isn't quite so smitten with our new family member and has been something of a little bully. After all, there isn't much in this world that is smaller than a chihuahua and being bigger than Mrs. Nesbitt clearly makes him feel quite large himself.

GRRRRR!

And this is why most photo shoots that involve one small chihuahua named Bram Ebenezer don't yield many usable photos. It's a damn good thing, for his sake, he's so freakin' cute.

Vintage Chihuahua

I can't imagine what's out of frame to the right that could possibly be more interesting to this chihuahua than this woman's hairdo. Personally, I can't take my eyes off of it.

Photo courtesy of spurmark on flickr.