I want a dog. I love big, sweet dogs that you can bear hug, but Tom says we don’t have room. So, I’m kind of hinting around for one of those tiny little teacup pups. The kind that break ribs when they sneeze. They take up no more room than a bar of soap. I’m not a very subtle hinter though, so the outlook on this one is grim. Here’s how it usually goes:
“Y’know Tom, I think when we get this little teacup puppy, I’d like to name him Archie.” (result: silence)
“Awwww, wouldn’t little Leonard, our teacup doggie, love this park?” (result: glaring)
“Did you know that some teacup puppies can be litterbox trained? We could teach little Roscoe to do that.” (result: eye-rolling)
“Chihuahua’s are pretty ugly, in a cute way, don’t you think? If that’s the kind of tiny dog we end up with, we should name him Tuco, after Eli Wallach’s character in The Good, The Bad and the Ugly.” (result: loooong sigh)
I’m going to have to improve my technique. This stuff always worked when my kids did it, but I guess the effect becomes a little sad and desperate when you’re over forty. Maybe a tiny little Maltese could just “show up” on our doorstep one day. One look at those big wet eyes, and Tom would melt like an ice cream cone. Kids and puppies almost always get what they want.