Wednesday, November 22, 2006
DAISY! Did That Smell Come From You?!
Introducing Daisy to my sweet little Chihuahua Rosie had to be organized and planned and practiced before I would even consider letting them meet in person. Rosie, in keeping with Chihuahua tradition, is a bit shy and easily frightened. She can be a tough cookie, too, but when it comes to new people or pets she tends to revert to more insecure behavior like slinking away or barking.
Rosie, who I most frequently call by her nickname "Pup", had gotten used to having me to herself for the few months since Lucy's death. I wanted to make sure she would know she was still loved and important and about as special as
a dog can be, even with a new puppy in the house. So when it was time to take Daisy home after spending the day at my Mom's house, Jacob carefully held her while Pup was given the opportunity to sniff and investigate this new interloper into our home. Well, that was the plan anyway. Pup just wasn't having it. As we sat on my couch, Pup cowered and climbed up on the back of it while Miss Daisy happily explored the whole couch and would definitely have explored Pup if she had been big enough to climb up onto the back of it, too. Pup growled and tried to get away, and really wasn't even interested in letting me pet or reassure her.
We used P
up's name every time we said Daisy's name, as in: Daisy is Pup's new friend, Pup is Daisy's special girl. I admit, my voice was dripping in falsetto when I said such things, but Jacob just couldn't bring himself to speak in soprano tones. His voice was more deadpan in style...and I am sure it was that monotonous tone that made Daisy contentedly curl up in the crook of Jacob's arm and take a nap. The big introductions would have to wait awhile. While we waited for her to wake up, we did some brainstorming on what her full name should be. I wanted something to do with the word daisy or days or daze...something I could finagle into a fun phrase from which I could pull the nickname Daisy. Over the years, my dogs have had some pretty interesting names that were plays on words. My comical black toy poodle was named "Heartchacer's Chloes Call"; I called her Chloe. And Rosie is actually named "Everything's Comin' Up Roses" because she was a gift from Jacob for my college graduation 2 years ago.
So Daisy needed a name just as special. But all we could come up with were things like Lazy Days of Summer (but she was born on Christmas day); Dazed and Confused (just plain ugly) and Driving Miss Daisy. That is until Daisy woke up from her nap and after bringing her back inside after a visit to the lawn, she began playing around on the floor. She banged her head on the leg of the coffee table, she knocked herself over when she ran into the couch, she slid across the hardwood floor when she tried to stop short, and she fell on her back when she attempted to get those little squat legs to propel her onto the couch with us.
When she did that, I laughed and said without thinking, "Oops-a-daisy! You better be careful or you will hurt yourself, little girl" and scooped her up. It took a moment for the light to dawn on what I had just said. Oops-A-Daisy became her name in that instant. For good measure, I threw in the word Mistletoe at the end in remembrance of her birth date. Oops-A-Daisy Mistletoe! I suppose it's not nearly as ingenious a name as some of the other girls of my life have had, especially the awkward Mistletoe part, but the Oops-A-Daisy reference is eerily fitting of her even now. You may have noticed by now that the title of this chapter seems to have nothing at all to do with the contents. Well, hang on tight, because we are about to explore a truly special trait of the Boston terrier breed: odiferous gas expulsion. This is a sensitive subject, one that civilized people of fine breeding really shouldn't be discussing. But let me tell you this: there is no ignoring this subject if you are talking about Boston terriers! We first got wind of the situation on the ride home from the breeder's. The car quickly filled up with a mind-numbing-eye-burning-throat-closing stench. I hurriedly explained it away as nervousness over going to a new home as Jacob turned up the plug-in air freshener and frantically opened the windows! About half way through the trip, I got wise and grabbed the towel from the floor of the kennel and wrapped it snuggly around Daisy's pudgy little lower half, and held her firmly like that for the rest of the trip. It was a super thick, highly absorbent towel, mercifully.
A day or so after we were settled in at home, I got back on the computer to investigate the problem. This time I googled: Boston terrier gas. A wealth of information appeared before me on the screen and I was flabbergasted to find that this is a very common problem in the breed. Why hadn't I found this information BEFORE I fell in love with this little girl? Well, probably because I had never googled the word 'gas' in correlation with Boston terrier before. Apparently there is some silent conspiracy of information hoarders who protect you from knowing the whole truth, right up until you are so enamored with your new friend you could never let her go, gaseous or not.
Since my first whiff of this dilemma, through research and forgiveness, I have discovered that the problem has nothing to do with nervousness on Daisy's part. I have come to believe that she is sending out wafts of love. And boy, does she love me!!
she loves me...she loves me not...
"Tedd" 
"Scarlett" 
