It was late summer 2006 and I was at the Metrocenter Mall for a school district event. I was working at a table when my co-worker Marjorie came up to me, grabbed me by the arm and said, “You must come and meet your new dog!” I thought she was joking, but she literally dragged me through the mall to the pet store, the last place I would have shopped for a pet, pulling me by the arm all the way. AND THERE HE WAS - in his cage, looking a bit sad and pathetic, until he saw me. He sidled up to the glass and started sniffing through the opening, making cute little sounds. How did Marjorie know I would fall in love, at first sight?
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Now, here’s the thing. Peter was away on a business trip and before he left, he explicitly said to me … if you go looking for a dog – NO RATS! and what he meant by this was – no tiny dogs, no chihuahuas, no miniature anythings!
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Well … here sat this scrawny looking, sable colored, five-pound Pomeranian. His coat was thinned out because he had been unwell for most of his first 6 months, he was way too old for a pet shop, so they were practically giving him away, and he had lived in isolation the whole time due to respiratory issues – need I go on? Was this the RAT Peter had foreseen and forbidden?
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Well, you guessed it – Jeanpierre came home with me that very day and he instantly became the furry love of my life. Just a little hiccup before the fairy tale could start though, Peter would be home soon, and it seems --- I had adopted a “RAT”!
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It was three days later, and I was nervously anticipating this first encounter. Jeanpierre owned the house by now, so when we heard the key turn in the door we came around the corner from the hallway “together”, and Peter walked in. True to his word, he took one look and exclaimed, “I Thought - I Said - NO RATS!”
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Well … I think it took all of an hour for Peter and Jeanpierre to bond and become best friends! Whew … I was off the hook.
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I must admit to my perfect dog’s one little imperfection - Jeanpierre was famous for stealing socks. The smaller the sock, the better. He would scrunch the sock into a tiny ball and then, when he thought you weren’t looking, he would walk past you, “sideways” and sneak out the doggie door and bury the socks in the backyard. If you caught him in time and sternly said “Drop it!” - he would. But most of the time he got away with it. Bad doggie!
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My favorite times with him were sitting in the recliner to watch TV at night. He’d climb up and we’d sit belly-to-belly, stinky breath, and all.
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Well, my little man passed away almost two years ago of heart-failure, as many tiny dogs do, and I still miss him so! Just last week I found a baby sock buried deep in the dirt in the back yard and even after two years … I cried.
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