Cassie, My Yorkshire Terrier
But, you may ask, how can an adorable pooch be considered a vice (unless you have already come to the conclusion that I have an extremely loose grasp of exactly what a vice is, in which case you would be entirely correct; after all, I don’t have any REAL vices). The truth is Cassie is far from being an adorable pooch. If you examine the picture at the header of this blog, you will see Cassie sitting on my lap. If you look closely, you may also appreciate the fact that she has a certain look of superiority on her face which tells the world that she is the queen and she doesn’t give one red cent what you or anyone else thinks of her. What you might not be able to tell from that picture is that she is mean and vile and frequently chooses to roll around in rotten animal remains before returning to the house to sit on my furniture as though she owns it. She hates her sister Nicky who I specifically got to act as Cassie’s companion during the long days Hugo and I were away at work. The way that she expresses her feelings towards Nicky is by attacking her at any given moment (real subtle, huh?) and also by walking over to whatever chair, cushion, blanket or bed (mine included) Nicky deigns to sit upon and peeing directly in front of her. Not only that, but Nicky got several beatings for this when she was first brought home, because up until that point Cassie had always demonstrated at least a moderate amount of urinary continence so I assumed (until I actually witnessed the act) that it must be Nicky, the newcomer. I hope that Nicky (and God and Violet who was kind enough to give me Nicky) will forgive me for this oversight. Oh, yes, Cassie is everything that Lassie was not in terms of canine baseness and villainous acts. If she found a little boy stuck in a burning barn instead of running to get Timmy, she would probably add insult to injury by peeing on the innocent victim. She loves nothing more than to kick a girl when she’s down, as evidenced by her apparent delight in attacking Nicky whenever Nicky is already scared or being punished.When little children mistakenly identify her as a cute fluffy puppy that they want to play with, she disavows them of this notion very effectively by “bopping” them in the face, an act that is somewhere between a punch and a bite. Luckily she has no teeth so she presents no actual threat to anything larger than a fruit fly. Yes, my “main” pooch Cassie is a real pain in the butt. Nicky, my “back-up pooch” is so much more pet-like and enjoyable to be around. And yet, I stubbornly continue to love Cassie the most of my two pooches. She’s mean and nasty and high-fallutin’ and she makes a poor excuse for a pet. She deserves nothing more than a date with the euthanasia tech at our local vet’s office. Don’t think Hugo hasn’t thought of it. I see it in his eyes sometimes. The only redeeming characteristic that Cassie exhibits, and get ready because it’s a good one, is that she is devoted to me. I might even go so far as to say that she worships me. At nighttime, she sneaks up and joins me in bed while Hugo is brushing his teeth. She sits there on the bed at my feet looking adoringly up at me until she hears Hugo on the stairs. Then, she leaps up and races to the top of the bed so that she can squirm underneath the covers and, following a path right along the side of my body, she slithers down to the bottom of the bed and lays there, quivering, as close to me as her 5 pound bulk will allow her to press. Hugo, playing along, comes up and pretends to be oblivious to her presence.
He sneaks up to the foot of the bed and in one motion he sweeps back the blanket and swoops her up, going, “ah-HAH!”. The foiled pooch gets transported back downstairs to where her bed awaits, with Nicky obediently ensconced already. Nicky will not risk her life and limbs to be with me, which is why she mostly stays downstairs and therefore on the better side of Hugo’s ill temper. Cassie, on the other hand, will not only risk life and limb but I firmly believe that she would gladly sacrifice all in order to save me. And when it comes right down to it; isn’t that the primary requirement of a good pet? My more egotistical side says yes. After all, it’s nice to be worshipped once in awhile, even if it’s by a lousy (no really, she catches fleas from the squirrels out back) excuse for a dog.