Chi-Chi's Enemy

(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

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Saturday News of the Dog

It's been my policy to stay away from disturbing news when I present my Saturday wrap-ups of the week's dog news. The papers are full of stories about puppy mills and dog fighting and people throwing dogs off balconies and such, and I don't want to fill people's heads with that kind of stuff.

Still, this first story today is far from pleasant. Bizarre, sad, disturbing story about a guy who wanted to be a dogman, and what went wrong. Robert Brunette, of Boulder, CO, kept about 50 dogs and lived with them as their "Alpha." Weird, Lord of the Flies type antics ensued. Now he's been convicted on all counts, and it seems, this putative "dogman" is facing 4 years in prison. The moral of this story: Kids, don't try this at home. Or, perhaps, try not to go too crazy.

Science has weighed in, and it's official, verified and scientific. Dogs are smarter than cats! I can't imagine this finding will result in any controversy whatsoever. I am refraining from mentioning this finding to Erica Kane, however.

Here's something positive, for a certain dog, anyway. Liza, a dog of uncertain provenance from Iraq, survived a suicide blast last week that killed 125 and injured 500. Humans. But Liza is alright, and has been reunited with a 14 year old boy who is the sole surviving member of his family. Of course the dogman wishes both Liza and her young master all the best.

With so few shopping days until Christmas, let us be thankful for The USA Today for providing us with a handy guide for the top ten gifts for dogs and cats.

Speaking of dogs and Christmas gifts, it's gratifying to know that Bo Obama will have his own Christmas stocking in the White House. Naturally, Levi opposes this, claiming that it will add to the deficit, but Levi's feelings about the First Dog might color his opinion somewhat. For one, I'm hoping Bo and the whole Obama family have a great Christmas!


This dog talks! Again, this particular dog talks!







© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

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Dreams of Dogs and Cats

It was the night of the full moon. The weather was glorious, and I was outside, on the patio, working on the computer. Levi was sleeping by the patio door, or Arcadia door, as they call them here. 

Erica was inside the twin-holed box that crowned her cat tower. That's where she keeps her weed stash. You know what I'm talking about.



More and more, lately, Erica's become a bit of a nip-head. Ever since I bought her that 10X catnip at the head shop...excuse me, at the pet store, she's been spending more time high on the stuff than I've ever known her to before. 


I've tried to delicately broach the subject with her, but anything I say is immediately taken as criticism, and she then becomes defensive and turns things around on me. Since I don't care to have my habits fall under Erica's scrutiny, we exist in a state of détente on that subject.



Levi was sleeping hard, and dreaming. He let out a little yip in his sleep, his legs were twitching wildly, and both Erica and I could see he was deep in REM.



"What do you think he dreams about," she asked me. "It looks like he's being chased by something. Maybe a puma."

"Levi doesn't sit around watching Animal Planet all the time. He doesn't even know what a puma is," I told her.



In his dream, Levi continued to let out little yips. From her lofty height, Erica snorted in derision.



"Puma's caught him," Erica said, with a touch of satisfaction.



"What do you dream about?" I asked Erica.

"I have the best dreams," Erica declared enthusiastically. "It's always a grassy field. But it's not grass. It's catnip, a big field of catnip! I feel like Dorothy in that poppy field, only I don't fall asleep like she did. I roll in the field, and the sun shines on me, and I grow!"



"Really? How big do you get?"



"Big!" Erica said, happily. "I grow big. Way bigger than Levi. Big enough to kill you!"



"Excuse me," I said, sharply. "Why would you want to kill me? I thought we loved each other."



"I don't want to kill you. I just want to be big enough to," she said.



"How come?"



"It would change the whole tone of our relationship, I think."



"For the better?" I asked.



"I think."



Levi yipped once more, then, suddenly, barked at full volume. His bark was loud enough to wake him, and in just a moment he had his bearings. He saw me and Erica looking at him.



"Puma…I'm sorry, Big Cat got you, huh?" Erica asked.



"What are you talking about? What big cat? Dad, where's the big cat?" He was wide awake, and excited.



"Erica's the biggest cat we've got at the moment," I told Levi.



"I thought you were dreaming that you were being chased, and then killed, by a puma," Erica said.



"What's a puma?"



"Big Cat," Erica and I answered in unison. Erica giggled.

"I wasn't dreaming about a Big Cat," Levi said. "I was hunting the rabbits."



Our neighborhood swarms with rabbits. Levi's learned to control himself when he sees them on walks, but only after repeated attempts to chase them down were thwarted by the end of his leash and his collar jerking his neck and, sometimes, me off my feet. It only took him five years before he stopped lunging at every one of them. 


Until Levi was a year and a half old, he had lived in rural New Mexico,  where his hunting instincts could be given full play.



"You sure liked when you could catch rabbits in New Mexico, didn't you, boy?," I asked him.



"It was the best! I caught one every single day, you know?"



"But Levi," Erica said."Why did you kill all those rabbits. You've always had all the food you wanted."



"I was hungry!"



"No, you weren't," Erica said. "That's my point. Why would you want to hunt if you don't need to?"



"I was hungry," Levi repeated.



"Were you hungry in your dream just now," she asked.



"Yes. I was very hungry, so I kept catching rabbits! And eating them! Then I was hungry again, so I caught more rabbits, and ate them, too!" Levi's tail wagged vigorously. I petted him and he pushed against my hand happily.



Erica laughed, softly. "Good for you, Levi."



"Thanks. It was great! I wish I could go back to sleep right now and dream it some more!" Levi suddenly looked worried. "But I'd probably have that other dream."



"The one about the coat rack?" Erica asked. Levi's tail stopped wagging.

The first house we had lived in eight years ago had a coat rack. Once, in a tussle with Arthur, the coat rack had fallen. No one was hurt, but Levi still had nightmares about it with some regularity.


"I wish I could just dream about the rabbits," Levi whined, morosely. "When I catch them, I'm not hungry anymore."



"A dog with all he wants to eat still thinks he's hungry and wants to hunt. I'll never understand them," Erica said with some finality.



"It's instinct, honey," I said to her. "You have instincts, too, you know."



"I overcome my baser instincts," Erica said, lazily.



"Then what about the mutilated bird I picked up from the lawn last week? You didn't need to kill that bird. You're not hungry either, Erica," I reminded her. "At least Levi ate the rabbits he caught. You didn't even eat any of that poor bird. So why did you kill her? Instinct, Erica."



"Not at all," she said, dismissively. "That was entirely personal."



"What did that little bird ever do to you, Erica?" Levi asked.



Erica inhaled deeply of her catnip. She looked down at Levi.

"I don't remember. But it must have been something."



And with that, Erica retreated to the interior of her drug den for a night of dreaming she was a Big Cat who could kill me, or Levi, if she wanted. But she wouldn't want to. Unless, of course, we did something.

To read more discourse between Levi, Erica and myself, check out "Webbings and Nails."



© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

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Erica Kane

Admittedly, Erica is a cat, but she’s nonetheless a full-fledged pack member, and with the exception of myself, has been one the longest. She’s not a cat-dog, the kind of cat that lives with dogs and then imitates their behavior. A neighbor of mine has a cat that goes out on walks with her and her two dogs every night. That’s a cat-dog.

Erica is, however, an honorary dog. She’s lived every minute of her life, since she was adopted as a sick and frail shelter kitten, when she was two months old, with a pile of dogs, as many as six at once, that collectively usually outweighed her by approximately 5,000 percent. Over the years, these dogs haven’t always been entirely “cat-friendly,” but in the fourteen years she's lived with me, I’ve never seen Erica have anything but the most passing issue with any of them. She has a calm serenity that can communicate loving-kindness to even the rowdiest dog.

We got Erica after the disappearance of our first cat, the jet black, long-haired, Mogwai. Mogwai was a dog-cat, and the dog part of this equation was either pit bull or Cerberus. He ruled the dogs through violence and intimidation, killed birds and mice in horrific numbers and manners, and disappeared about this time of year fourteen years ago. We were in semi-rural New Mexico, so whether it was coyote, hawk, or misdirected bobcat, it’s fairly certain that Mogwai had died by the same sword under which he had lived.

A few months later, we got Erica. Even though she was sick and frail, she still had a hypnotizing personality, so we named her after All My Children’s Erica Kane, which is my Erica’s legal name. Actually, it’s officially Erica Kane Martin Brent Cudahy Chandler Montgomery Montgomery Chandler Marick Marick Montgomery, but that is a bit of a mouthful, so she generally just goes by Erica.

Much like her namesake, Erica does not age. Once she was nursed to health as a kitten, she has never again been sick, and has never shown any indication of advancing age. If she were a dog, I’d be carrying her to her cat tower, instead of watching her bound to the top in a thoughtless jump.

Also like her namesake, Erica is very affectionate. My Erica, though, is always cautious, but open and friendly to dogs and humans alike. When she’s lived with other cats, she was always tolerant and diplomatic, if not overtly enthusiastic.

She’s a survivor, like her soap opera counterpart. She’s lived her entire life in the Southwest as an indoor-outdoor cat, sticking close to home to avoid danger, and keeping a wary eye out. It doesn’t hurt that she has guard dogs at her disposal, but I credit her survival to prudence, and, of course, some good luck. TV’s Erica Kane may not be known for her prudence, but staying alive in Pine Valley for forty years requires no small amount of luck, so in that sense, as well, our cat was well-named.

Erica is good-natured when she becomes the object in a game of “Look Out, Cat!!! ™” More often than not she wins, meaning the dogs don’t corner her, but when they do, her fiery eyes, and a quick display of her claws, disarms the pack immediately. She always walks away with her dignity intact. I guess that’s more than can be said about Susan Lucci’s character, but she's just a namesake. They're not the exact same being.

I couldn’t love my Erica Kane more if she were a dog, or a human, for that matter. She, Levi, and I go to sleep together every night, though they’re usually gone in the morning to more comfortable locations where my inconsiderate movements don’t disturb them. In the living room, Levi likes the leather couch, and Erica favors the center of the enormous dog bed. But as I go to sleep, Levi is pressed against my side, and Erica sleeps on my pillow. Every night I fall asleep with a cat on my head, and I hope I always do.

I communicate with Erica, but in a very different way than I communicate with dogs. In a sense, when I communicate with dogs, I’m reverting to my more primitive roots. We share a common language that goes back at least 15,000 years, and maybe as many as 150,000. Wikipedia gets it right when they say cats have “associated” with us for at least 9,500 years.  The domestication of the dog seems to have been a result of true communication between two species. But I believe the cat domesticated us. And since earliest times, we have worshiped her for this.

When I communicate with Erica it’s not as if she’s a goddess, but it’s a bit like she’s an alien, the good kind, like E.T. Our discourse takes place at a higher level than with dogs, if that makes sense. I’m honored that Erica loves me, because I know I earned and merit that love; I take love for granted with dogs. Most of them love everybody. But Erica Kane discriminates.

Cats can be included in a dog pack. More than the right dogs, the success of this integration depends on the right cat. For those who don’t know, dogs and cats do communicate, and they can love each other. When I see Rocky and Erica curled up together for a nap, and watch Levi quietly walk past them so as not to wake them, I can’t question that we are all basically the same. If I have a soul, dogs and cats certainly do. If none of us have souls, don’t doubt that we all have hearts and brains, and the only difference between people, dogs, and cats, is one of expression, not degree.

Finally, the very best thing my Erica Kane has in common with All My Children’s Erica Kane: To my knowledge, neither of them has ever used a litter box or had an accident in the house. If I’m wrong about one of them on this point, I’d be willing to lay bets that it’s la Lucci.


© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
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