Chloë and Kiki
Last Saturday, my pal Lynn picked me up and took me over to Kiki’s house while Mike and Heather went downtown and froze their butts off at a Mariners game. Lynn called ahead and asked Heather to send some toys over there, because Kiki didn’t have any toys. I can’t relate, but I brought a bag of toys with me.
In addition to some of my own, I brought along a brand-new autographed Wiffie to give to Kiki as a present. Except when I got there, I was having so much fun playing Wiffie in the long, wooden-floor hallways of her house that I changed my mind. I wanted to keep this Wiffie for myself. Although she knocked it around while I was there to chase after, Kiki’s never going to pay any attention to Wiffie when I’m gone. Kiki can’t even get Wiffie in her mouth like I can. What kind of fun is that?
So by the time we had to leave, I was certain that it was wrong to leave Wiffie behind. Lynn had to convince me it was the right thing to do. So I left it there, reluctantly.
Kiki and Chloë wrassle.
Otherwise, I had a good time. Kiki was really into wrestling this time – and I played along to a point. I’d wrestle with her for 15 to 20 minutes, but sooner or later I’d be tempted by the scent of something or other, and I’d walk off the playing field to forage. Kiki leaves food all over the place.
More than Wiffie, Kiki loved the colorful, squeaky hedge hog, Hedgie, which I had long ago relegated to the hall closet only to see it resurrected for travel duty. Kiki couldn’t get enough of making Hedgie squeak. I finally had to put a stop to it; to my ears, that noise is worse than those Mushabellies toys, which I also feel compelled to silence. Too much damn squeaking for me.
In fact, I wish Lynn had left Hedgie with Kiki and let me take Wiffie home instead. Hedgie went back in the closet as soon as we got him home. Maybe the next time I visit Kiki we can do a swap.
Up to now, I had thought Mike was doing a pretty good job for me. I mean, nobody has stopped me in Petco asking for an autograph, but strangers still stop us and tell Mike and me how cute I am. And certainly through my blog, Mike has established me on a higher recognition plane than any other wirehair dachshund my age, at least the ones I know about. I’ve had videos on the Visi-Ball site, for crying out loud. Think Frank and Stanley have built that much of a literary platform?
Kiki, before her TV debut
But I’ve got to reconsider my assessment of Mike’s worth in career-building after finding out that Kiki–that tiny Havanese my friend Lynn takes me to play with, has made her network TV debut. The nerve of her! (Kiki, not Lynn; I can’t imagine for an instant that Lynn had anything directly to do with my snub or Kiki’s good fortune.)
I refuse to hold it against Kiki, though. After all, she’s not nearly as cute as I am; she’s just got a better agent.
Kiki and Chloë square off.
I’m blaming Mike. And unless he can get himself back on my good side, he’s toast. And if in the end I decide to let him stay on as my chauffeur, autobiographer and personal assistant, he’s gonna owe me, big time.
Come to think of it, there’s no way I’m letting Kiki get away with this, either. The next time I see her, I’m going to have to remind her who’s the boss.
We drove over to Kiki’s house in Lynn’s car, and when we got there Kiki was having a bad hair day. The poor thing had just gotten clipped, and it was pretty short for a Havanese. I suspect Kiki’s owners must have decided to cut bait on her hair mats and just start over. But I hope Kiki picked up a few “calm assertive” pointers from me that she can apply when I’m not around and bigger dogs tease her about that lousy coif.
The two of us played around for a while. Whenever Kiki thought she might be able to get the upper hand for a few seconds, I just stood her up straight or pounced upon her, just the way my brothers knock me around. Being on the other end was awesome, baby.
We were having fun until Kiki pooped in the house and wanted me to cover for her. And how exactly?By looking guilty? That’s not my style. So I blew her in to Lynn. Since she didn’t catch Kiki in the act, Lynn let the waif off easy, in my opinion. Honestly, there’s no excuse for that kind of behavior at our age. Whenever I gotta go, I mean REALLY gotta go, I just let out a few little whimpers, and people are stumbling over each other to get me out of the house. It ain’t rocket science.
I fervently hope Kiki gets my message on this one, or she’s going to be in for a lot of aggravation in the long run.