In my many meaningless meanderings I often muse about mutts in my midst. Much has been written about dogs lately, as the fertility rates of Americans fall, rates of ownership of canines rise. If I were some sort of fundamentalist I would, no doubt, rue this consequence of wealth, feminism, and birth control. Alas I am no fundamentalist, rather, I’m a lady approaching middle age who often wonders why has no one, not one person, written about my dogs? What’s up with that?
Let’s rectify that. I have three dogs. First let’s talk about Pachuco. Pachuco (“Chuco”) is a merle chihuahua. He weighs 8.6 lbs. He is nine years old. It took Chuco a good seven years to garner the courage to leave the cozy confines of his domicile and venture into the great outdoors.
Like any chihuahua worth his salt, Chuco relishes a good fight. He is always spoiling to go paw to paw with the hapless and howling canine enemies behind countless fences. Chuco particularly enjoys his almost daily forays near, what my husband has deemed, “The Gauntlet.”.’
The Gaunlet comprises of a series of about four backyards that abut the trail across from my house. Each yard houses one or two dogs of various makes and sizes. I’ve never actually met any of the dogs. I’ve only ever heard them.
Each early evening, most likely after dinner, they muster outside near their respective wooden fences and wait. They wait for the tiny patter of tiny paws. They sniff the air in anticipation of meeting their doom. The doom that will be surely dealt to them by the vicious Pachuco! And this is why they bark and growl. This is why they wallow in horror and yelp in fear as Chuco high steps toward the Gauntlet.
They are lucky, really, that their masters and mistresses have seen fit to equip their territories with fences. The fences are not to keep them in, no! They are too keep them protected from the Pachuco. Small and ferocious is he. He with the brown spots. He with the upturned and straight tail. Chuco the greatest Chihuahua in Texas! Or even, the world!