Cha Cha Chihuahua

"Let's go see the dogs at the shelter!"

I admit it, I've never been a morning person, and ever since my night job as a security officer I've been even worse. I live to sleep and wouldn't mind sleeping the rest of my life away.

This proposition was different.

It was a Saturday morning, and my mom was amazed at how quickly I was up and ready for adventure; I think we even got our coffee at a drive thru, since the trip to the NOAH Center in Stanwood was a good couple hours North from us at the time.

I'm sure I was still pretty disheveled on arrival to the shelter, shuffling along past little rooms with windows housing one or two darling little souls each. Dogs were on one end of the building, cats on the other; I knew what I needed was a small enough dog that I could carry them if necessary, but feisty enough to get me up and active for my ongoing recovery.

We got to the far end of the hall, turned back, smiling and greeting each corgi or lab pup we passed. They were all beautiful, and deserved space to run and a person who could run with them. They needed yards and hikes and very large meaty bones. I loved every one of them; I hope they found their perfect spot!

It was just as we were getting close to the exit, I noticed a little hallway branching off to two more rooms: the first housed a tiny chihuahua puppy who looked delightfully scrappy and I desperately loved him immediately!

But the next: 2 year old Chihuahua Terrier mix, tan, transported from California as a stray, recently weaned a litter of puppies, somewhat timid but with a spitfire streak, Doesn't Like Men.

Cha Cha.

This was my ultimate Lilo meeting Stitch moment. This is what I had been looking for, for years. After several painful breakups and traumas, I was certain that this was the one for me.

When we asked to meet her at the front desk, the woman assigned to her shelter care, Penny, bustled out seemingly from thin air:

"Cha Cha?? Did somebody say CHA CHA?" she was overjoyed.

Cha Cha had apparently been skipped over a number of times: "Is her belly always going to look that way?" people would ask about the loose pregnancy skin around her haunches.

"So what if it does?" I wondered. "It's not like we all go back to how we were after babies. Look at her, she's perfect."

And she was. She was shy in her little kennel room, curled on her plush little bed with a soft toy; she didn't growl or fuss, but she seemed a bit uncertain. We took her on a walk around the grounds, and she trotted along joyfully, checking her pee-mail and enjoying the pretty spring day. We couldn't let her loose in the onsite dog park since it was soon after surgery, but have since discovered that she blissfully loses all inhibition on large patches of grass!

The paperwork was done almost before we could take a breath, and she was contentedly in my lap heading home. We got her a leash and a food and water bowl, and she slept with my hand nestled against her chest like a puppy, and she steadily settled into her Perfect Forever Home.

Since then, she and I have made great progress with fear of cars and falling things, and best of all, with Men. Cha Cha now has one daddy and two uncles that she loves to bits and pieces, and somewhat of a following on my Facebook profile. Her Aunties and Uncles and Auncles all check in on how she's doing and sometimes send treats or toys or little sweaters when it's getting cold, and I try to make sure that each day is a wonderful Cha Cha day that starts and ends with love, play, and clear communication.

And this is where her true magic comes in: Cha Cha may have been a stray, but I was a stray too. She may have been timid; I was timid too. We may not have been spoken to sweetly all our lives--now I can model my inner monologue on how I hear my own voice coax and encourage her.

She's telling me it's time to go to bed right now.

We trade off that way. Sometimes she's my baby, sometimes I'm her puppy. Tonight I have to be reminded that I have to sleep to stay well.

And we're back to the beginning: awake to get a Cha Cha, awake to tell the story of Cha Cha, whose grooming forehead kisses I imagine say that I'm a good girl, too.