A Party to Remember, by Dickens

The Wee One celebrating 28 dog years on planet Earth

So yesterday my human, gracious, yet not best left with important decisions, decided I was to accompany her to a birthday party for the Wee One, Jordan. She turns 28 in dog years next week, or so I am led to believe. Ironic indeed that she is older than I am yet can barely contain herself in public. The slightest bauble excites her beyond belief, which would be endearing to most if *I* weren’t considered one such bauble. It would appear that humans must attain far greater dog years than we do before they learn how to behave in company. I would later have to underscore this point in a most unfortunate manner.

Human Sarah, sibling of my human and my favorite dogsitter--though I hate that term...

Upon arrival at said soiree, my human wasted no time in handing me off with barely a word to her sibling, the one with red fur on her head. She smells good, and does indeed do well protecting my from the Wee One (not that I need protecting, mind you) but I must admit I was fairly unnerved not only by the ratio of humans to dogs (8 to 1!) but the fact that the domicile, occupied by my human’s mother and her mate, was not the same domicile I was heretofore accustomed to. Accordingly, I was uncertain of necessary exit routes and safe havens. Therefore I do believe I trembled—ever so slightly—in the arms of the red furred one. As usual, my human overreacted and felt the need to “rescue” me (really, I do intend to buy her a guide to codependence before the year is out) and transported me around the place in the dreaded “football” position that I have heard the humans refer to on more than one occasion. I am not entirely sure what this “football” is, but they do like to laugh amongst themselves when making this reference, so I venture to presume it cannot be anything good.

Human Steve (Husband of my human's dad) and Human Jeff (Husband of my human's sibling)--BEFORE the incident.

Soon enough my human is distracted by food (we do share that trait) and sets me on the sofa next to Human Steve—a relatively safe human, I have decided. I even allow him to scritch my ears—when no one is looking, of course. Though I am fine watching television while pretending to be invisible, my human apparently mistakes me for a doll and covers me with the Wee One’s pink(!) blanket. What am I, a Cabbage Patch Dog? Really. She is too much sometimes. Yet I find the blanket oddly comforting, and have greater ease in my quest for invisibility. My human’s mother, not to be outdone, adds yet ANOTHER pink(!) blanket. I am only glad that Ginger was not there to view my undignified condition. (And I'm not even referring to the blasted rabbit ears!!)

Nice... Bastards!

All was going swimmingly until the Wee One decided she needed her blanket back. I was okay with that--truly. Wasn’t even my idea in the first place. Yet suddenly I am over-towered by large Human Jeff. Good human when sitting—WAY too large when towering! I have no choice but to make a mad dash for safety, fearing he might be thinking about “footballing” me. Quite unexpectedly, I find myself on a table you can look down and see the floor through (?!) mixed up with several pictures and one larger-than-it-looked-a-minute-ago lamp. Not good. Instinctively, I spin. The situation quickly degenerates following this ill-advised move as Human Jeff reaches for me. The “football move!” I knew it!! I swear on a stack of biscuits I had no choice but to let loose with the coup d’état of all proud Chihuahuas—my oversized (if I may say so) anal sacs. Both barrels. AND managed to swing around for a little tooth action, as well. And let me tell you—that large human started crying like a baby! I regret to admit I did enjoy the crowd reaction, albeit a rather negative one. I mean really, my sense of smell is 100 times greater than yours, and *I* can easily handle a little anal sac action. You would have thought from the commotion that the house was on fire! Humans are such simple creatures, one can’t help but have a giggle at their expense.

Okay, no one was giggling when my overbearing human came after me with a soapy washcloth. Well, actually, everyone was giggling, just not me. Thank God she had the decency to shut the bathroom door before humiliating me with that smelly piece of cloth. Now my tail hair was all wet. How embarrassing is that? Does my human care? Oh no, not only does she not care, but in FULL VIEW of the rest of the humans, she sprays my posterior with GLADE! What am I, a moldy sofa? She is incredibly lucky I emptied all my rounds on Human Jeff, or she would not have gotten away with this!

So, and go ahead and enjoy the pun, yours truly was the butt of every joke for the rest of party—which lasted at least a week in dog time. I vowed never to attend another human party. EVER. I shall retain my dignity in the future—once I have regained it from yesterday’s unfortunate events, of course.

Happy Birthday, Wee One. Next time, I am simply sending a card. But maybe a scratch and sniff one. :o)