[Hamoth]

On Sunday night, I remind my dear life-partner / wife / girlfirend-thing, that we shall have company tommorow. She reminds me of the name of the breed we were considering and we look up images online.

:Oh dear god...:

"Um...they sure are..."

"Gay" I finish.

"yeah...uh..." She agrees.

"Looks like a lot of grooming work."

"Uh..I have never heard of a 6 pound dog. I want somethign I can fly with, but I also want him to be able to go hiking."

"These don't look like hiking dogs."

"why do they all have bows?"

"Gay." I remind her. It's my inside joke to be politically insensitive. In fact, I'm a flaming liberal with some odd-ball sexual experiences of my own to classify. No matter. These dogs are effite and prim. The exact opposite of my metalica and Megadeth life-style. But it's HER gift. so after a laborious series of hours she makes her call.

"We wil say no."

"You don't want to meet the breeder?" I ply her.

"Well, if she really impresses me, we *might* go see the dog...but Hamoth, seriously...Look at them."

I laugh and say "I know...I know..."

The following day, I am working from my office which faces the apartment walk-way. I see an attractive blonde woman pass my window with a red dog-carrier. I have a suspicious feeling that I have seen my dog for the first time. I shake it off, remembering the images I saw online that had so frightened me. Besides, we were jsut supposed to meet the breeder, right?

Still, I know my intuition enough to know a TRUE ping of connection. I stand and go to Jenny.

"You remember that today we meet that breeder lady, right?"
"That's today?"
"Uh...yeah...We talked about his last night..."
"I know!"
"O.k...Well, she's here. And I think she brought the dog with her."
"But he didn't say anythign about the dog! We were just supposed to meet the breeder!"
"yeah well, I saw a lady with a pet-carrier. I think it's the dog."
"We're going to say no..." She said. I don't think either of us were convinced at this point. I have never asked her, but I think she knew it then too.

A few hours later, the door bell rang. Ah...the doorbell, alone, silent, pure...no special anxiety, no stress or drama, just a doorbell without significance. Someone was there, that was all. It was the last time I would hear it so.

I looked through the eye-hole.

"She brought the dog, it's the lady I mentioned..." I told Jenny.
"no she didn't!" she exclaimed.
I laughed and opened the door. I wanted to see this dog. I was drawn more and more. Frankly I was getting exited abotu the idea of little puppy-pads on my carpet. Maybe the carpet wastoo clean...I craved the animal soil...the wild eyes to see me as I am...I needed to see this dog.

I don't remember the greetings.
I don't recall the lady's name. She said some stuff. She had a red pet carrier in her hands. While she made nonsence sounds, it lowered to the floor. Jenny and she were discussing things. Grown-up things. My childish mind was focussed on the sound of that zipper.

:Oh dear god...:

It was a terrible, pittyful looking thing. Baleful brown eyes looked with utter suspicioun and apprehension at what was outside the red box. It wasn't this little guy's first time doing this. I knew that as he bumbled out, little over-sized paws cautiously feeling the texture of the carpet...Little browsn eyes avoiding mine. Avoiding Jennys'. Avoiding his breeder's. His eyes were not where he was. He had the vacant impossible far-off gaze of a blind man. But his little nose, it was rooting, and snooting, and pointing this-way and that. It showed his focus...It turned from this one to that one. It pointed and wiggled. I saw the same motions in his pittyful sawed off tail. So muted, so behaved and at the same time wild and barely contained.

He fully tumbled forth. There in the living room stood a puppy--A black and Tan Yorkie Puppy.

"We call him Rocky". The breeder said. Suddenly I was ableto tear my gaze away from this little thing...I looked at her...My eyes betrayed my thoughts..."But you can rename him of course...".

Of course. Rocky! Indeed! Hmph! Anyone could see his name as clear as day. But that was beside the point. The poor little fella was scared.

"Oooooohhhhh." Jenny observed as he bumbled off toward our kitchen. I knew, even then on that first day. Somehow he had picked me. I never wanted a puppy. Damnit, this was Jenny's dog, not mine.

"He wants water." I had to tell the humans who couldn't understand him. I knew that they didn't smell his thrist, didn't see his dry-edged tounge for those lightening fast flicks across the nose. They coudln't smell the dry on his puppy breath or hear the flutter in his damn puppy heart. I think this is when he knew.

The breeder provided us with dishes that he knew. She gave us the toy he had been assigned at birth. There was some talk as to ages, trimming, grooming, never use a collar, he was in a four foot run or something like that, large litter, born the runt but out-grew them all. In fact, he excelled too much. He was a fighter, naturally wild. Duh (just read his mind like I can, and you can see that, really!). A wolfish Yorkie is an emberasment, but I didn't know this at the time. Poor Chewy in his run, looking back I see the tale too well. He knew hte word "No"...but he knew it was a human word. He knew he was hte smallest and that made him MEAN. He competed for every little drop of bottle-fed milk. He worked his ass off to be the cutest, the most capable the most manipulative, the best. HE grew. When the others stopped, he continued, he'd take their toys, fight them, to the death if need be. He's take their treats and grow. HE was NOT born to be the runt. He was born to run the plains and hunt little squirmy sqeaky things that tasted like rust and fish-bones.


HE didn't look a damn-thing like the yorkies I saw online. No bows. No prim fancy-cut. He didn't sit-pretty among stuffed animals and over-fluffed comforters. I heard the word in the backgorund as I lay on the floor making play-paws at this little stranger: "Throwback."

"How much?" I asked. I could tell by Jenny's heart-shaped eyes that she was taken.

"Huh?" Aksed the breeder.

"How much for him?"

"Jim didn't tell you?" Jm being my neighbor who clearly set this up.

"Uh-no..."
"He's free. I just have to part with Rocky here. His littermates are worth a few thousand a piece but I can't sell them if they see him." Bah, his name isn't Rocky.

"Free?"

"Yeah..."

"What's wrong with him?" I pressed again. What was so bad about this? It looked a HELL OF A LOT better than the pics I had seen online! I was all ready to say "NO." Till this thing crawled out of a red bag and into my life.

"He's too big. He has a delicate soft trachea and can't wear a collar." Too big? Who friggin' cares? too big in a breed like the YT, is like saying "Yuk! he's normal!". Harness, she said at some point. Get him a harness. No biggie. I'd seen lots of dogs in the area on harnesses. The upstairs dog had one. So we had the pluss and hte minus. What would it be?

I looked at Jenny. I knew. Of course I knew. I had known all along. Chewy needed some food. did this lady bring food? Chewy told me that she did. Chewy old me that he wanted the green-thing. The squeeeky.

"It's your decision. It's your dog." I lied to Jenny. Then I ignored the details as papers were signed, a small transfer fee of 15$ traded hands. The green-thing entered me and Chewy's domain and our first play began.

We would play for a very long time.