Chico & Pete

I want to talk a little about my boys, Chico & Petey, my dogs, my babies, the loves of my life. 
I received Chico as a birthday gift from my daughter 7 years ago.  He was supposed to be a chiwawau but seven years later, at 17 lbs., we don't believe anymore that he is a chiwawau.  Obviously, another daddy snuck in there with chiwawau mama. 
I had wanted a chiwawau because I had one as a child, "Lady", and I loved her so much.  She was my best friend, and she died in childbirth.  I was devastated.  I hated those murdering puppies she had.  I know, it wasn't their fault, but I can't help how I felt.  My grandmother and her husband thought it would be cute to let her and my sister's dog breed. [Lady was 5 lbs., my sister's dog about 12.]  I didn't even know they were thinking such thoughts.  I was at school the fateful afternoon they locked her in the bedroom with him. 
The pups were too big to make it through her birth canal, and by the time we got her to the vet, it was too late to save her life.  The vet saved two of the three puppies, and I helped my grandmother feed and care for them, but I hated them. 
I never wanted another pet.  I never wanted to go through that pain of losing a beloved pet again.  My kids had pets [dogs, cats, guina pigs, fish] as they were growing up, but I never allowed myself to become attached to any of them. 
But after my kids were grown, and all finally moved out for the second or third time, I decided to give it another shot.  So, I picked another chiwawau to love and get attached to, in loving memory of "Lady". 
I was looking around at different breeders when my daughter surprised me for my birthday by walking in my door with this tiny little black and tan bundle in her palm.  And he was tiny at that point. 
I don't think he weighed a lb.  She had tied a pretty little red ribbon around his neck, and I swear the ribbon weighed more than he did.  He was so cute and so lovable, I fell totally in love with him from the first time I laid eyes on him.  He has the most beautiful, expressive brown eyes of any creature I have ever seen.  I love him.  And he is my best friend.
Petey is a rescue dog, but the amazing thing here is that he and Chico look so much alike.  My daughter rescued him from a garage where he was hanging out fighting cats for their cat food.  He was starving, had fleas, worms, and two different kinds of mange.  After a $400 vet bill, he is in great shape.  He's about three years younger than Chico, and Chico is definitely the alpha dog of the pair, but he is a perfect fit into our little family.
Chico is a barker, but he would lick a burglar to death.  Petey is not a barker, but he has proven twice in the past that he would protect me.  It was difficult going the first few months with Pete.  He was still a puppy, the vet estimated his age at about six months, and boy did he love to chew!  He chewed everything!  Which is probably why he was abandoned.  Not only did he chew  the usual things like leather, but wood, plastic, paper, you name it, he tried to eat it.  I had to work 12 hour shifts at this point, and I dreaded walking in the house to see what he had chewed in my absence.
Getting rid of him wasn't an option.  He had already been through so much in his short life, I couldn't do that to him.  My decision was to crate him while I was at work.  And it worked.  He eventually outgrew the chewing, as I knew he would, and he is the best little dog in the world now.  Much better behaved than Chico, who failed puppy obedience school.  They gave Chico the graduation certificate, but the trainer said to me "What do you expect?  He has the brain the size of a pea."  Hateful woman.  What does she know?
Chico is now seven yrs. old, and he has finally learned to "come" and sometimes he'll stay.  He walks very well on the leash if he wants to go where I'm going.  The best thing about him, though, is that he loves to snuggle.  We snuggle on the couch watching TV, we snuggle in the bed reading, we even snuggle in the car.  He has to sit in my lap when I drive.  [I know that's not safe for him, but I can't get him to stay in the other areas of the car without tying him, he has to be in my lap.] 
I will have to get my daughter to show me how to upload pictures so I can post a picture of Chico & Pete.  It is amazing how much they look alike.  [I already said that, didn't I?]  When I'm walking them, people ask me "How are the twins?"  But there are differences.  Pete has a broad chest, like a bulldog.  It's especially noticiable when he's sitting.  Pete's face is rounder and smooshed in, Chico has a long snout like a daschand.  Chico's legs are shorter, he has the daschand body type.  Pete's eyes are darker, almost black.  Where Chico has the spanish liquid brown eyes.  Pete's ears are terrier-like, Chico has the chiwawau ears.  They are both black and tan, with a white splash on their chest [Chico's looks like a cross, and I piss my daughter off when I say he is my little gift from God].  But Chico's fur is starting to turn white, which scares me.  [I'm turning white too, well, actually I've been going grey since my twenties.  But it will never show as long as I'm worth it.]   
My daughter accused me once of loving Chico more than I do her or her sisters.  Of course I love my children more than my dogs, as I reassured her, but it's close.  As I also told her.

My daughter and I went to the movies this afternoon to see Eat Pray Love, which was so cool because I just finished the book Saturday.  Julia Roberts is the lead, and she is just great, as she always is.  But, as always, the book is better.  Don't get me wrong, it's a wonderful film, but I realized a long time ago that the book, any book,  is always better than the film.  I try to read the book before I see the movie, when possible. 
Now I want to live in Italy and learn to speak Italian.  Aw, shit, let's be honest here, I have always wanted to live in Italy and learn to speak Italian.  Italians just know how to live life.  Europeans in general do, but especially those on the Med. 
We in America are so caught up in chasing the American Dream, make a pile of money and you'll be happy for the rest of your life.  The money's nice, I'm not bitching about having money [quite the opposite, in fact, I bitch about not having money]. But we don't know how to enjoy life, which the author of the book, Elizabeth Gilbert, talks about.  She says, and I agree, we know how to entertain ourselves, and we spend a lot of our hard-earned cash on this, but we do not know how to enjoy, how to savor, life.
I love the word "savor".  Isn't that a lovely word?  Reminds me of "Savior".  Savor your Savior. 
I also want to learn French, and live in Paris.  The reason for this is because my great-grandmother was from France.  She was a WW1 war bride and emigrated to the US with her new ex-GI husband.  I've had an affinity for all things French ever since learning about her.  Unfortunately, I never got to meet her.  My grandmother, her daughter, never talked about her life.  My mom, her daughter, doesn't know much either.  My sisters and I would know nothing about where we come from or who we are if one of my sisters had not gotten interested in genealogy once and investigated a little.  And a very little is what we know.  If I ever get any of that cash we're busy chasing, I want to sign up with one of these genealogy on-line places and see if I can learn any more about her.

Judy's Blog

I have decided to start a blog.  This first sentence sort of sounds like Dickens first line "I am born".  Not that I am in any way comparing myself to Dickens, but that first sentence was sort of bald. I am blogging.  How's that?  
I just finished watching Julie and Julia and was inspired.  I read the book first.  I love to watch a film of a book I have loved.  But my favorite thing to do is read.  I am in heaven, blissed out, when I find a book I can fall into, and forget my shitty little life for awhile.  I suppose anyone who loves to read feels that way.  I can not live without my books.  I have lost many possesions in my life, from being evicted and not being able to take everything with me, from losing a home and moving into an apartment too small to take all of my stuff, from having a nervous breakdown and leaving everything except what would fit in the trunk of my car, but I have always managed to take my books.
I am one of those weirdos who love their books.  I will reread my favorites over and over again.  I have read The Stand by Stephen King at least once a year since it was published.  It's like running into an old friend again after not seeing them for a long while.  "Well, how have you been?  I've missed you so much.  Tell me everything that's been going on with you!  God, it's so good to see you." 
This is kind of fun.  But I think it's better to keep these posts short and boring, rather long and boring.  So until next time...