Kate's ridiculously cute, impossibly neurotic Shi Tzu is named Coco. Actually, it's Cocohoney. Kate had named her Honey and her grandson Jack added Coco because he felt she looked like Coco-puffs cereal. At various times Coco will respond to these two names as well as Rosie, and Rose Petal. When I say "respond", I mean the dog might blithely look over her shoulder at you as she chooses to ignore your request.
Lassie she ain't.
Coco is completely self-aware. She knows the following about herself: she is cute; she will be fed like clockwork no matter how stubborn she may have acted that day; she is superior to all of the creatures she sees as she gazes out her window (pictured above), including joggers and people from Alabama.
That window is Coco's view of the world. She seems very content to spend hours sitting rather regally and watching the various happenings out that window. Whenever anything untoward enters her world-view, say a lizard, squirrel, landscaper, or member of Congress, she will sharply voice her disapproval until the offending critter moves out of her line of sight. I don't know if they have yentas in Tibet, Coco's ancestral home, but she's a Tibetan yenta if I ever saw one.
Kate rescued Coco about four years ago from an abusive puppy mill situation. Coco had been living isolated in a crate and had never been socialized. Kate was told that it would take Coco a while to warm up to her but she would eventually. With great patience and dedication, Kate was able to break through Coco's distrust of large beings and begin her entry into something close to a dog's normal life. It wasn't easy, but today Coco and Kate have achieved a nice mutual respect and love for each other.
She still hates me, though. Coco, that is.
Kate has a roomy, comfortable dog crate that Coco really enjoys. She will retreat to her "house" several times a day, especially if she feels nervous or senses that Kate is going out on an errand. Whenever she leaves the house, Kate tells Coco that she is going shopping and will be back in "twenty-two minutes." Immediately, Coco will head happily into her home and patiently await Kate's return. If she understands the meaning of the passage of time, she's never let on. Whether Kate is back in twenty-two minutes or four hours, Coco greets her return in the same way: modest gratitude and benign indifference: "I knew you'd be home eventually; I really wasn't worried about it. When do we eat?"
Coco spends most of her day lounging around the house, finding different areas in which to nap. In this way she is much like your humble blogger. The only strenuous activity Coco engages in centers around the stuffed animals Kate has bought her. The local Pet Smart store is able to stay open because of these purchases. They number in the millions. For some unknown reason, the minute Kate picks up one of these ratty-looking, squeaky toys, Coco goes completely berserk, jumping up and down and barking her sharp, loud yelp until Kate agrees to give the animal up and allow Coco to fiercely tear it apart with little razor sharp teeth while dragging the poor squirrel/hedgehog/fox/monkey around the house, activating the squeaking noise in every room of the house over and over again.
Good times...good times.
Walking Coco can be a challenge. She hates any kind of adverse weather condition including wind, rain, and excessive sun. Thunder absolutely sends her over the edge. She will begin shaking uncontrollably until Kate picks her up and calms her down. I tried doing the same, but Kate was wise to me. Anyway, when Coco is taking a walk, we have to hope for almost complete silence. Any noise out of the ordinary will break Coco's concentration and the mission is all but over. Luckily, Coco accepts her part of the bargain and will agree to "hold off" until we try again later.
She may be a neurotic, but at least she's a responsible one.
Something many of us should aspire to.
Ain't dogs grand?
J
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