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The spot for those that love Chihuahuas!
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My Chihuahua Life
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(WARNING: This Soapbox may cause boredom if not in the mood for a story. Very light comedy. You have been warned)
(WARNING 2: This soapbox contains sad sequences that (this has not yet been proven) may make you cry. BEWARE!) When I was about eight years old, I got an early birthday present. My parents had put something in a B-day bag, and put it on the table. It was like, three weeks before my B-day, so there weren't any decorations. I took the bag, and since I did it with all my presents,...shook the bag. Not violently, just a little shake. I opened the bag, after some side long glances from my parents, and screamed. Inside was a small, brown, puppy, male chihuahua. I held him, and stuff! He was so cute!! I named him Christopher for no reason, and gave him a blue collar. I always had wanted a dog that gave birth to puppies. At that time, it was my life long dream. So, my parents got me another chihuahua. Her name was Bunny. She was as white as an angel, and as fluffy as downy feathers. I gave her a pink collar. (she still has it around her neck at this very moment) Bunny had her puppies soon after she and christopher started running around the house together. They were inseparable. Her first litter contained four puppies: Sammy (male), Scout (male), Kip (male), and Mia (female). I kept Sammy, and gave away the others. I gave scout to my brother and his girlfriend. I gave Kip to my sister's friend, and Mia to my neighbor. There was a problem with Sammy that didn't come up until he was big. He urinated himself...yeah. Not a pretty sight. whenever we tried to pick him up, he would roll over onto his back, and pee himself. We had to get rid of him when we moved to a house because (1)he pees himself, and (2)he was very dumb. (But only in my mom's opinion) So now, I was back to Bunny and Christopher. Well, I wanted a puppy still. When my dogs died, I wanted something to remember them by...so they had another litter. Bunny's second litter also had four puppies: Max (male), Silver (female), Cocoa (female), and...we didn't name the last one. We didn't, because she died before she was old enough to get her personality. Her intestines weren't fully developed. The part that doesn't suck as much (but still sucks) is that I had to pick a girl, and I wanted a white one. Well, "Unnamed" was a girl, and white. "sigh". I kept Cocoa, and gave Max and Silver to a doctor my mother was going to at the time. Then, came the awful day: the day I had to give Christopher away:( My mom said that Christopher "marked his place" too much. His new owner wasn't exactly what I had in mind. His new owner was a woman who worked at Dollar Tree. He made her happy, but I just wish we had neutered him after I got to keep Cocoa so he wouldn't mark his territory. And now...this part of the story is the most saddest part of my life (so far): I didn't have Christopher, and I didn't have a white puppy (Cocoa is black). But, I was happy with my daughter, Bunny, and my granddaughter, Cocoa. But then, my brother moved in. He brought his girlfriend, which I didn't mind, and Scout, which at the time I didn't mind. Well, you know how dogs don't care about their family tree? Neither did Scout. He had a puppy with Bunny!! His mom! Can you believe that?! The puppy was cute, though. He (the puppy)also...had two legs. Just two. No front ones. When my mom realized it, she screamed, a shrill squeaky noise. My mom asked if we should put him to sleep. In my head, I saw myself asking her what was wrong with her, but I held my tongue. We didn't put him to sleep, we named him. I named him Dos; Spanish for "two". He was white, and she only let me keep him, because he couldn't lift his leg to pee on furniture. He was so CUTE!! He was, and still is, my favorite puppy out of Bunny's litters. But, just as he was learning to walk on two legs, he got sick. He wouldn't drink, eat, or move around. We brought him upstairs, and fed him a drink you give to babies when they need nutrients (I forgot what it's called). In the middle of the night, my mom woke me up. There he was, in the tub we put him in, dieing. We kneeled there, next to his tub, crying. I rubbed his face and muzzle gently with my forefinger when the bursts of sobbing stopped every now and then. But, soon after I had woken up, and cried for him, he died. He was my last, and favorite puppy. We buried him underneath a small tree that blossoms beutiful white flowers in spring in the backyard. To me, those flowers represent him, white and fluffy. And the small sign I put above his grave, said," He didn't have front legs, but now he has wings..." *WhiteRose (No, my name is not Rose) |
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