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(Chi-Chi died today, from complications of diabetes. Before her death, we had the chance to become actual friends. This piece, written two years ago, describes my basic relationship with that funny little dog.)
I don't think Chi-Chi really hates me. Her feelings are both deeper and more complicated than that.
Chi-Chi is the pack member I've alluded to a few times, but not written about much . She's a 14 year old, diabetic, Chihuahua who belongs to my mom, which makes her my sister. To be sure, she hates me less than my human sister does, but since I live with Chi-Chi, she has to endure me much more.
I've lived with Chi-Chi for eight years, and she still barks at me as if I was a burglar every time she sees me. Not every time I come into the house, but every time she lays eyes on me. When I get down on the floor to try to befriend her, she backs away in terror, snarling at me, until finally she's in the back of her box.
That's right. Chi-Chi lives in a box. I know it's supposed to be called a "crate," and, technically, that's what it is, but it looks like a box to me. Chi-Chi spends at least twenty hours a day in the box. The door is never latched, or even closed, it's just where Chi-Chi prefers to be. One might think this would mean she's housebroken. One would be mistaken.
It's not that she doesn't know we'd prefer she went outside, it's that she doesn't care. Her turds are as hard and dry as rocks, and we don't have carpets in the house, so she's easy enough to clean up after. To be clear, though; these aren't "accidents." She knows better, she has the opportunity to go outside, and she decides she'd rather not. I don't much like cleaning up after her, but I must say I admire the strength of her convictions, however ill-advised they may be.
When I approach her in her box, she is as aggressive as possible. Fortunately for me, she's a Chihuahua. How aggressive can that be? I used to worry a little, until one day I decided to just let her bite me, if she wanted. She did want to, but since I could barely feel it when she dove into the flesh of my hand, we've both come to understand that actual violence on her part is an ineffective deterrent.
Chi-Chi weighs eight pounds, but the vet feels she should weigh six. At one point, she weighed twelve pounds, and looked more like the bioengineered result of blending a pot-bellied pig with a human fetus. Then she was diagnosed with diabetes, began insulin shots and a special diet, so today she's at least recognizable as some form of canine.
My parents got Chi-Chi from a rescue organization when she was already about a year old. She was tightly bonded with my father, who passed away 2 ½ years ago. Since my father's death, Chi-Chi has become much closer to my mother, and, if anything, hates me even more. Understand, I've never yelled at Chi-Chi or disciplined her in any way. I've always been as gentle with her as if she were a glass figurine. It doesn't matter, though. Chi-Chi is the only dog I've ever met who just can't stand me.
But "hate" might not be the exactly right word. Chi-Chi will accept a treat from me, though she trembles as she does so, and I have to reach my arm way out so my hand is as far away from the rest of my body as possible. She'll muster up the bravery to pluck the treat from my hand, and then immediately retire to her box to eat it. She would prefer that I never touched her, or looked at her, but I have fed her and given her insulin shots. She is terrified when I have to do this, but when I leave her alone in her room, she eats all her dinner.
Sometimes, though, I'll see Chi-Chi looking at me when she doesn't think I notice, and she's not giving me the evil eye. I'll catch her looking at me with an expression of awe, if not reverence. If she sees me looking back, she'll usually start barking and snarling again, but it doesn't matter. I know. And she knows that I know.
Chi-Chi sees me walk, feed, and totally care for Levi, Rocky and Erica (of course she's been invited on the walks, and, naturally, she refuses). She sees me comfort them during frightening times, like thunderstorms. It's clear to her that they all love me. So what's the problem?
Honestly, I believe it's that Chi-Chi is scared to love me, for whatever reason. Maybe it's something unknown in her past, like abuse from a man who looked like me, but I don't think so. I think Chi-Chi holds back from a simple fear of loss and rejection. I think that because she's so small, when Rocky and Levi are excited around me, she's scared she might get knocked over and hurt.
Mainly, though, I think that Chi-Chi has decided she can't love me, because she wouldn't be able to stand if I didn't love her back. Of course I would, but I think Chi-Chi is a one-person sort of dog, and that, whoever her master is, better be a one-dog kind of person. Knowing I love Levi, Erica and Rocky, I think Chi-Chi is unwilling to accept sharing my love with anyone. Therefore, Chi-Chi's reasoning goes, she has to hate me.
I'm sorry for Chi-Chi in that she can't bring herself to be my friend, but she has a relatively full life, anyway (full for someone who spends twenty hours a day in a box, that is). She has a very close bond with my mom. She loves Levi, who is clearly aware of their size disparity and is always extra gentle and careful around her. Like everyone, she loves Rocky, though you can tell even she knows he's not too bright.
But Chi-Chi's best friend in the pack, outside my mom, is the other girl, close to her size and age. Chi-Chi and Erica Kane adore each other. Erica's been long habituated to dogs, but Chi-Chi is the first one she's known who's actually smaller than she is. As far as I know, Erica is the first, and only cat, Chi-Chi has ever seen, but somehow they couldn't be tighter sisters and girlfriends.
So all in all, me and my pack moving in on her territory was a positive thing for Chi-Chi, even if it does mean she has to live with me, her enemy. I refuse to be her enemy, though. She can bark, snarl and bite all she wants, it doesn't matter. Any friend of Rocky, Levi and Erica, is a friend of mine.
(Note to my Hispanic and Spanish speaking readers: I know what Chi-Chis are. I do not believe my parents did when they chose that name)
© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
ScottsdaleDogMan.com
ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com
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What an exciting week in the Den!
Readership of this site is steadily increasing. My page hits are way up, due to listings with Entreecard and Adgetize, but those numbers mean relatively little. A lot of those people drop by my page, click an ad, and leave, which is cool. That's the way those programs work. But at least some are staying and reading the writing on the wall (of the den), and from what I can figure, it seems about 100 people a day are actually reading this thing. And that's not bad.
On the other hand, it's not near enough. If you like a particular piece, or the whole blog, pass it on to a friend. My motive for the moment is simply to entertain. I write these pieces for the joy of writing, and to rebuild the habit of producing work daily. I try to make every piece I post as entertaining, informative, moving or funny as possible. Naturally, I'd like them to reach as many people as they can.
Also, thanks to you 100 or so people who are reading regularly. I have one other request. Leave a comment now and then. Subscribe by e-mail, or follow the site in a feed reader. Drop a note on Facebook. It's enormously helpful to me to know you're out there.
Finally, this weekend I'm babysitting my favorite dog in the world (who isn't Levi, that is), Henry. Henry is a pretty enormous mongrel of some kind or the other. Some pictures of him will be up next week. He and Levi used to be good friends. They hadn't seen each other in a few years, and last night they were reunited.
Things could have gone better. There was some fighting, which is always adrenaline pumping with dogs that size, but nobody got hurt and it was mostly a jockeying for position sort of thing. Henry's mom and I will get the boys together more often, so they can get used to each other and be friends again, but for this weekend, Levi will be staying in his own house when I'm taking care of Henry.
And now, the weekly wrap-up:
Levi wrote a guest editorial, all by himself! I asked him to write something about what he perceives are the problems in the world, and he promptly produced a "My Turn" piece entitled, "Those People at the Door." It seems Levi has some pretty serious (and to my mind, unfounded) problems with "those people at the door." Check it out. Levi worked hard on it.
A Cast of Characters went up, which will always be accessible from the main page. If you forget which dog was which, or when they lived with me, this is where you can go to get the facts straight.
Vinnie Goes to the Zoo, is a gently funny true story about guide dogs, where they're allowed, and what it's like for them when they visit the zoo.
All Dogs' Eyes Are the Same Size! An interesting animal "fact." The title says it all.
And, while you're at it, make sure you take a look at the two part story, "Levi's Issues." It's Levi's history, and helps explain why he is like he is, and why his dad adores him anyway.
I'll see you tomorrow with the weekly edition of News of the Dog!
© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
ScottsdaleDogMan.com
ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com
The Seeing Eye breeds all its own dogs, and keeps meticulous record of any genetic defect that could affect a dog's fitness for work, such as hip dysplasia. Although Vinnie was perfectly healthy, his bloodline had been stopped because of a hereditary retinal defect. Since the Seeing Eye had a definite interest in making sure none of their dog graduates went blind, they arranged for Vinnie to be checked, annually, by a veterinary ophthalmologist.
Even in this age of specialization, it's difficult for me to imagine what it is that makes someone get on the path to become a veterinary ophthalmology. Before Vinnie had to be checked, I had no idea such a specialized vet existed, and was apparently busy enough to have a thriving practice in a smallish city such as Albuquerque.
I bring this up because this doctor, whose name I can't recall, told me something I've never been able to forget. He told me all dogs eyes are the same size.
Initially, I didn't understand what he meant, so he explained. "If you scooped out the eyeball of a Great Dane and a Chihuahua," the vet told me, "And laid them out on the table, the eyeballs would be the same size." What can you say when you're given a piece of information like that?
"Oh."
"The eye is the first major organ to develop in a fetus," The doctor explained. "It's a series of genetic switches being pulled, or not being pulled, as the dog develops, that determine what kind of characteristics they have. A small dog, for instance, has genetic switches for growth flipped to the 'off' position, sometime early during gestation. A giant dog, like a Newfoundland, never has those genes flipped off."
"But all the variation you see in dogs, size, color, temperament, all the variation, takes place on the genetic level after the eyeball has developed. That's why small dogs often seem to have bulging eyes. Their skulls are holding the same size orbs as their gigantic brethren."
The vet allowed that there were minute differences in eye size, and that disease, or bad genetics. could result in an eye larger or smaller than usual, but, all things being equal, all dogs have the same size eyeballs.
I've refrained from scooping any dog's eyes out to compare size, but as I look at dogs I know, I'm fairly confident the vet was right.
I'll say this. What the doctor said makes sense. Little dogs do seem to have enormous eyes, while bigger dogs can seem to have a beadier countenance, and I choose to believe what the specialist contracted by the Seeing Eye told me. It squares with my understanding of neology and dog evolution and development. Mainly, though, I choose to believe this because, in any situation, when the room falls silent, and no one knows what to say, this is guaranteed to cause some sort of reaction:
"Hey, did you know that if you scooped out a Great Dane's eyeballs and a Chihuahua's eyeballs, you could put the Dane's eyes back in the Chihuahua, and vice versa, and they'd fit?"
If that doesn't start the conversation up, it's probably time for everyone to just go home and go to bed.
© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
ScottsdaleDogMan.com
ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com
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