I can haz happy?
I found another secret to joy yesterday when I was out in Savannah with a friend of mine. She needed to stop at PetsMart for something or other, and I’m never one to turn down a long drive and conversation, so I threw what I needed in my pockets, and we were off.
It’s rather well-known among my friends that I don’t really ‘get’ little dogs. The kind that fit in purses, or in a little carrier bag thingie, or need a stroller for long distances. I don’t understand their point, or their purpose. You can’t rough house with them. You really can’t step on them on accident in the middle of the night, as it might crush their little bones and make them flat as pancakes. And Lord knows that, should you find yourself with a rat problem, then you better get the dog out of the house first, as it would be the first thing the rats eat, being so much smaller than they (the rats) are.
That doesn’t mean I can’t be charmed by a six week old chocolate brown chihuahua who liked to snuggle under my chin.
And yes, I made the squee noises and the cooing noises, and maybe even a “pretty baby” noise once or twice.
I’m so easy.