As I shared with you in an earlier post, my personal assistant, Ermigal, gets my dander up when she tells one and all, “he’s a Min-Pinscher with some Chihuahua—check out those ears!” So what if I am part Mexican? Right after I was born, I recall my birth mother whispering in my ear “you are from a long line of perritos who were the companions of Aztec royalty. Be proud, mi hijo.”
So I do get into the whole Cinco de Mayo thing, and last year my p.a. (or p.i.a.–lol!) shared an enchilada and a Milk-Bone with me. Low-key but relaxing.
Not so this year.
She was gone for awhile that morning, flitting around doing who knows what, then breezes in and harnesses me up for a walk. OK, whatever. Except there was somebody else to walk with us. “Leo” was in my carseat (a gift from canine compadre Moose, who retired to Florida) wiggling around like a Mexican jumping bean.
As Marmaduke would say, “Ruh-roh.”
Supposedly Leo and I share the same combo of genes, but his lack of breeding shows in his failure to hold his ears up in order to do important work for kings and queens, such as listen for enemy soldiers who are miles away. Stuff like that.
If there had been a wall–a total wall–on the Mexican border, it may have prevented Leo’s family from sneaking in.
Right now, we’re keeping our distance from each other. He really burns my butt when he takes my chew bones.
I have to admit though, it’s good to have someone around who’s your size.