A Dog named Doggo

This is the fourth instalment in a series of five about my five pets. This is preceded by Dear Chocolate, Lady of the House, and The Cat Who Wished He Was a Dog and succeeded by Tales of a Tasmanian Devil.

If I were to guess what mix Doggo was, I'd guess she was a Chihuahua - Shiba mix. That means that instead of being 50% hate and 50% tremble, she is 50% love and 50% tremble.

Perhaps naming her Doggo cursed her to a life of stupidity, or perhaps she was born with nothing, not even a single survival instinct in her mind. Nothing that is, bar a love for us and food (not necessarily in that order). I'd wager that her love for good food outweighs her survival instinct.

Doggo once refused to eat anything for a day and instead wandered around weakly. Occasionally, she would sigh or raise her nose at us with sorrowful eyes. Dogs are not apt to go on hunger strikes, and a lack of appetite represents a much worse underlying problem. Not Doggo though. She was on a hunger strike, ending it enthusiastically (though a bit weakly) as soon as we offered her better food—from our own plates. Thus, I must come to my conclusion that Doggo would sooner starve to death than eat food beneath her palate's desires.

I do not believe Doggo knows what it means to be unhappy. If I were to personify the phrase "ignorance is bliss", it would be in her shape. There is no wrong that could occur that would make Doggo hate you, and I believe she thinks that she is capable of no wrong. Even when she makes her little mess, any scolding after is to a happy face and wagging tail. A dog as small as her is prone to get underfoot, but tripping over her doesn't induce whimpers. Instead, she'll happily give you a kiss and ask for some attention.

We found Doggo as a small puppy. Whilst waiting in line for a parking space, we noticed a few dogs playing on the sidewalk, alongside a tiny puppy. My brother got out of the car to play with the dogs, but came back with the small dog inside his jacket! The rest is history—we had a new little pupper.

Doggo came into our house as the youngest of four—we had Chocolate, Lady, and our cat, Rhys (though we just called him cat). And she enjoyed all the attention that being the youngest brings.

Unfortunately for her, she would only get a few years of being the youngest before becoming forced into the dreaded middle child role. As someone who was unwillingly forced into the role of middle child, I feel you, Doggo.

As a result, Doggo loves anything that will give her attention. Her favourite is wearing clothes, especially her Totoro outfits. She's had a number of Totoro ones growing up, but her current favourite is her Cat-bus outfit. I personally think it's preferred to the others due to its fluffy nature and the fact that it has a hood, but the point is moot. She will wiggle with excitement when her outfits are being taken out and start whining, sometimes even screaming when we want to take them off. Occasionally, Tazzy takes a nip at her, and she'll growl in return. But when she's wearing her Cat-bus outfit? She'll start yelping as if he has committed a grave hurt against her.

Above all, Doggo insists upon her position as an important member of the family. She currently has her own chair at the table, so that she can call family meetings whenever she sees fit. Although she is well trained enough to not eat our food, she knows where she stands in the pecking order. That is, she understands that she could never steal food from us, the adults, but stealing from my 5 year old cousin? Absolutely acceptable.

Doggo has captured us, heart and soul. And if we could keep a secret between us, I think Doggo's got it right. She can do no wrong.