Well…
There is something idyllic about a dog and mud. This is a brief reflection on the white mini-schnauzer named Pixie who adored transforming herself into a barely-recognizable blob. And my husband Kevin & I enjoyed her enthusiasm with this most basic befoulment. Of course, not the aftermath of bathing and splattering, but her serene enjoyment of watery mud was enviable.
The name Pixie was chosen by Kevin’s daughter Jessica during the time Robin Williams’ 1991 movie ‘Hook’ came out. The name Pixie – a sprite of sorts – reminded us of Peter Pan’s fairy friend, Tinkerbell. But Pixie was no ‘Tinkerbell’! Pixie was, well, Pixie.
Modeling the size of a sneaker, Pixie began her life as a homecoming gift to a first-time mother by a terribly misguided husband. Pixie ended up transferred to a shelter. A co-worker of mine (Deb B. animal rescuer extraordinaire) alerted me to this opportunity. Thus, Pixie was ‘rescued’ by us. I think she found us because we lived near ponds, a reservoir, and, of course, mud.
As adorably innocent as she appears, Pixie was ambitious for adventure. While home alone during our time at work, Pixie continuously escaped her dining room/kitchen enclosure and popped right up onto a delightful leather massage chair next to the living room window. No mud in sight, she waited our return to enjoy the back yard: muddy, slippery, but securely fenced.
Now we didn’t realize it but a few months later this non-mud-loving but playful mini-schnauzer was calling us from a local pet store. This was a nice pet store with veterinary-monitored pets for sale. OK, don’t send those ‘damn puppy mill’ accusations at me. I went by Deb’s recommendation as a reliable pet store with pups who had ‘pedigree papers.’ Again, my co-worker alerted me to this recent arrival. I remember seeing ‘Wendy’ mid-week and falling in love with her deceitfully cute appearance. When Saturday arrived, I was wheedling my husband with a desperate desire to ‘just see’ this puppy.
About an hour before store closing, we walked through the door. There she was in a top shelf crate next to an enormous red rubber ball. The owner brought her down to us and we were smitten. So was Pixie. Hey, you didn’t think we’d leave Pixie home? No, she came with us, pulling to get a better look at Wendy. It was love at first sniff & lick. Kevin tried to talk the owner down in price.
Pixie – mud, Wendy – cuteness, Kevin – price negotiator.
And in keeping with the Peter Pan theme, the name of Wendy was chosen. With name choice, I would imagine one that I wouldn’t feel silly shouting out like, say, Muffineer or Cumquat. After all, I was raised on Dr Suess and almost knew, by heart, his poem:
Too Many Daves
Did I ever tell you that Mrs. McCave
Had twenty-three sons and she named them all Dave?
Well, she did. And that wasn’t a smart thing to do.
You see, when she wants one and calls out, ‘Yoo-Hoo!
Come into the house, Dave!’ she doesn’t get one.
All twenty-three Daves of hers come on the run!
…
Here we are.
Successfully united – humans and pups…
Myself, Pixie, Jessica, Wendy, and Kevin
*
Epilogue, of sorts.
Here is Pixie’s companion, Wendy, waiting for her humans to come home. As you can see, Wendy got the premier viewing spot at the living room’s front window although she was younger and smaller than Pixie. I admired Pixie’s deference to Wendy. Actually, Wendy was the boss of us all and we loved it that way.
And Pixie continued to enjoy her examination of dirt whenever possible.
