Yorkie Bear

Today is one of those days where I just can't get it together. I am tired and scattered, sore and emotional. And I just had a 30 minute conversation with my dog. Now Yorkie is much smarter than your average bear, and dramatic and manipulative to boot. He sat here next to me and whined all morning until I got up and asked him what he wanted. He led me out of the office, through the living room and to the dining room table. He proceeded to look at the table, look at me. Look at the table, look at me, with quick jerks of his head. So what do I do? I concede! I take every item off the dining room table one by one and open each bag, ruffle up each item of clothing for him to sniff, only giving into this because he is always right. He will sit there and pester you one day, totally out of the blue, about a tiny little ball that has rolled under the sofa. It will have been there for weeks but when he notices it, he has to have it. And I am always the one to get it for him. After hours of listening to him whine under his breath, giving me innocent looks when I tell him to knock it off, I will get up and let him lead me where his treasure awaits. Yorkie is so skilled at this fine art of detection and will hone in on a bag of training treats long forgotten about in a jacket pocket. And pester the crap out of me until I go to the closet, search each pocket and finally find the bag of long-forgotten morsels. Then I have to tell him loudly and firmly "NO", because they have gone bad. He will walk off and plop down with a sigh, either his back to me or gazing up at me through the most pathetic puppy dog eyes I have ever seen. I am not that mean of a mommy and usually he will get a fresh and wont-break-the-dogs-teeth treat shortly thereafter. I kid you not every time he does this there is some long forgotten treasure he turns up. Is it possible that not only my smart-phone, but my dog as well, are both smarter than me?

But earlier in the morning, right when we first woke up, I had an emotional encounter. And I cried. I wiped my tears from my eyes to see Yorkie standing below me, ears back, tale quivering and low, those wide wet eyes letting me know he is there to give me love. See this little dog is half the reason I fought so hard to get my life back. The other half was my husband. But Yorkie was there for me in a way far beyond what I ever imagined a dog was capable of. He would let me hold him as I rocked back and forth on the floor and cried, ever incapable of comprehending what the hell had happened to my life? He was there as a little puppy, sleeping all day with me, his terrier spirit not nearly as strong as his loyalty. He was my buddy, my pal, the guy who I kicked it with from morning till night. I had to force myself to walk down 3 flights of stairs to take him out on days that would have strung into weeks I was too sick to leave my house. I set my goals of walking around the complex to around the block to around the neighborhood, for his benefit. Eventually we could take weekly trips downtown, walking 5 blocks to go to the bank, library and post office. He got good at jumping into his bag and just lying there, undetected, inside the stuffy official buildings. Because he knew a trip to the yuppie puppy shop was on the way home, and he would be getting a big tasty treat.

So this leads me back to the dining room table contents, the evidence of a weekend of not straightening up spread out on the floor. And as I open each bag he duly sniffs, then backs up, waiting for the next one. Sniffs and backs up. Until I get to the bag we put our stuff in for Friday night scotch and cigar at the hot tub (yes it was not over 100 degrees so I had to go in the hot tub instead of the pool). His little tale starts quivering rattlesnake fast and he gets really excited, emphatically moving the bag contents aside with his nose as he burrows, indulging the reason for his pedigree. And buried down way at the bottom under all the other junk is the tiny remnants of a bully stick the dogs get every Friday night down at the hot tub. I guess he had not finished his, or Porkie had not finished hers, and we grabbed it as we were gathering our stuff and forgot about it. So yes, this is why when he actually pesters me enough to get up and get something for him, I know there is something hidden. I just sometimes have to work really hard to find it.

Thanks for joining,

Leah