Newsdump ~ Bio of a Shih Tzu

      My parents asked my birthing Mom to let them know if she ever had a litter that was not going to be papered. I was born of that litter.
      Whenever my Mom would call to ask about me, I would know it was her and go over and stand by the phone. My birthing Mom would tell her that I did this every time.
      When we first met, Mom came in the room where I was playing. She asked where her baby was?
      "That’s me," I said to myself. "I’m her baby."
      Immediately, I stopped playing with my brother and sister and went over and licked Mom's foot. It was love at first sight for both of us.
      Although I did hear her ask my birthing Mom some questions about my sister. But she was waved off and told that because I responded to her voice, I was her baby.
      I stayed with my birthing and doggie parents for another month or so. Many days my birthing Mom and her trio played the harp, flute and piano all afternoon. Rehearsals they called it.
      We howled to the music and the three of them laughed at us. Maybe we were off key. What do I know?
      The first week I was with my parents, they put a soap dish in the living room with a night light over it to catch fleas that I might have brought with me.
      It looked like a water dish to me and I drank from it. Well, I had a bad case of the runs and no way to get out of the apartment, Mom was really upset when she woke up. It took her a half hour to clean all the spots on the carpet.
      She called my birthing Mom and said, no way could she have even the possibility of this in her household. I heard her and I was upset. We were meant to be together, I just knew it. I felt it in my bones.
      But, back to my birthing Mom and my doggie parents I went. And my parents went on a trip for a week. By the end of the week they came back for me. I had hoped they would.
      As we drove home, I was a happy camper. I did not have anymore accidents, but then Mom did not put any soapy water on the floor again for me to drink.
      Still, there was one close call until we got a routine. Until we moved to our new house, I was gated in the efficiency kitchen of our temporary apartment when my parents were away. My bed and toys were in there. But I did not like being gated in, so I would shred the wallpaper on the kitchen walls next to the gate. A willful child I am, to be sure.
      One night while Mom was cooking chicken noodle soup, I smelled the soup as it was about to burn. Mom is a microwave cook, but for some reason she was using the regular stove right next to my bed made out of a regular bed pillow.
      The gate was down, so I said to my toys, "We have to get out of here."
      I took my toys out of the kitchen and into the dinning room and went back for my pillow. Whew, it was three times my size in length but lightweight. Still, for as little as I was, all of 4 pounds, it was tough to pull it across that small kitchen.
      About half way across the kitchen, Mom came rushing in and put the pan into the sink with cold water. Then she turned and noticed my stuff in the dinning room and my pillow.
      My parents went on and on about what a smart pooch I was. They emailed people about it. And anytime they can get someone to listen they tell the story of what I did and how brilliant I am.
      Well, there is no way I am going to argue with them.

Dandi