I
dropped my daughter’s toy poodle off at the groomer’s this morning. When I left
her, she looked at me as though to say, “You are leaving me here with these
horrid barking dogs? Why?”
Holly
is not just a dog. She is a family member, spoiled and manipulative just like
any pampered child. She knows who will feed her tidbits of people food (me) and
who will pick her up when she whines (my son-in-law), but the person she loves
the most is my daughter, Rachael. Holly will pay equal attention to every
family member – including me – until “Mama” comes home. The center of her world
has arrived, and the rest of us could fall off the planet. She would never
notice.
Oh,
sure, when I show up at the door, Holly comes running, barking her greeting and
begging to be picked up, but only long enough to sniff my face and find out
what I ate last. Then it’s back to Rachael. Every move my daughter makes is
monitored by this white ball of fluff. If Rachael sits down, Holly snoozes
beside her. If Rachael moves, Holly pops awake, ready to follow her beloved mistress
anywhere.
If
someone knocks at the door, Holly charges through the living room, barking
ferociously and ready to hurl her entire three pounds at any threat to her
family. If visitors are admitted, she goes into airport security mode,
thoroughly sniffing feet and legs to make sure no dangerous odors are sneaked
into the house.
For
a treat, Holly will roll over like a tiny barrel, then take the treat and hide
it a closet or under an errant sock. Maddie’s closet is her favorite hiding
place. Holly’s cache is seldom disturbed there among the shoes and toys and
clothes. When the closet is cleared out during a cleaning frenzy, Holly just starts
over, building her stash along with the disorder, preparing for the day when someone
forgets to fill her dog dish.
Sometime
today I will fetch Holly from the groomer’s. I am sure she will exhibit all the
attributes of a newly crowned princess, then smell my face to see what I ate
for lunch.
