Almost everyday when I'm with Bebe, someone asks, "What kind of dog is that?" And, my reply is always the same, (except for the time when I told someone Bebe was a baby lion)....I say, "She's a long-hair Chihuahua", and their reply is always the same, "Lady, that IS NOT a long-hair Chihuahua. It's gotta be a Rat Terrier, or a Chihuahua mixed with Papillon or something else, but not a Chihuahua." So, I'm used to people debating me on the pedigree of Bebe, but, today was way beyond the ordinary conversation.This morning, I was having a garage sale. Bebe was tethered on a 50-foot rope in the front yard and spent most of her morning sunning on a rug for sale. She's great for attracting attention and she greeted every customer with her chipper smile, and a wagging-fan of a tail. At some point, a woman got out of her car and started to walk up the driveway. She stopped dead in her tracks and yelled to me..."Does your Pit Bull bite?" Caught off-guard, I said..."Uh..ma'am, it's a Chihuahua, and no, it doesn't bite." I have to admit, this is the first time anyone has ventured a guess of a breed bigger than a Cocker Spaniel, and I was amused, if not a little confused. This woman insisted.."Don't tell me that's a Chihuahua, I know a Pit Bull when I see one." I said.."Really, she's a Chihuahua and she won't bite you." Then, I noticed the exasperated woman was pointing behind me when she said for the third and final time.."That's a Pit Bull." Sure enough, sprawled out in the garage, as if he owned the place, was a Pit Bull nuzzled up to Bebe's water bowl; cool as a cucumber, calm as a monk, and contented as a cow. No one was more shocked than I was to see him laying there, and next to him, a puppy Dachshund. The two, obviously bosom buddies, had wandered into the garage unbeknown to both Bebe and me. They seemingly belonged to no one and had no intention of giving up the shade and comfort of the garage, let alone the fresh water.
Needless to say, seeing a Pit Bull, I gathered up Bebe, shoved her in the house while shielding her little body from the potential grips of this Pit Bull. I could not have been more wrong about the disposition of this imposing canine. He was sweet, gentle and obeyed my every command. The two wayward hounds spend most of the day lounging in the garage. The Pit Bull had a tag on his collar, so I called the county who gave me the number to his vet, who gave me the number to his owner, who was not home. By mid-afternoon, with thunder clouds gathering, I packed up for the day wondering what to do with my guest pooches. Just as I was about to fence them in the yard, the mail carrier showed up. He whistled for the dogs ..."Hey, boys, jump in!!" "You know these two?", I asked. He told me he finds them several times a week in different parts of the neighborhood and brings them home to their owner in his mail truck. Seems the little one digs out of the yard and the big one jumps the fence. Apparently, today's escape yielded an almost 2-mile venture from home. I thought to myself, "What a nice guy, this mailman is!" We loaded the two in the back of the truck and closed the door. The Dachshund made a mad-dash for the driver's side and scooted out the door. We loaded him in again, and sure enough he ran out again. Now I know why they're called "dash hounds! With the Pit Bull about to follow suit, the mail carrier finally blocked them both in with some boxes, quickly closed his door and drove off. The three-ring circus ended just as the rain began.
Talk about a dog-day afternoon!
