Chardonnay and Harley ignited our Yorkie obsession. They were sisters. Chardonnay will turn 9 this month. Harley left us far too soon, a few months after both turned 5. Harley died at the hands of a negligent groomer. I will forever connect Harley with her untimely and unnecessary death – at least until the grooming industry is a licensed and regulated pet care service.
A few months after Harley crossed the Rainbow Bridge, Tasia joined our family. Was I ready? Not really. I didn’t think of her as a replacement for Harley – I just wasn’t ready to open my broken, grieving heart. Still, here she was, tiny, sweet, and smelling like all puppies smell – wonderful.
Dogs are very healing animals. They instinctively know when humans are in pain. Tasia knew she had joined a family that needed her. Puppies are exuberant, playful creatures, yet Tasia spent a great deal of time curled close beside me. In her quiet way, she shared her healing energy. Until she became a diva, that is.
Tasia is a Yorkie diva, not to be confused with an ordinary run-of-the-mill diva, thanks to my husband. Every day when she hears the sound of the car locks on my husband’s truck, she races toward the door in the house or the screen door in the yard when the beep sounds. Her body quivers with excitement. Daddy is home! This translates into – I will be showered with affection that I won’t acknowledge lest he becomes complacent in showering me with the affection I deserve – an unmistakable thought process that is written on her face and seen in her gestures. If she had bubbles over her head they would be filled with the mistreatment she received in his absence. Things like: “Mom didn’t drop everything and lift me onto the bed I am very capable of hopping onto, so I pranced into her home office while she was on a conference call and demanded I be placed on the bed.” Or, “Mom let the heating pad you left on for me automatically shut off and she had the audacity to make me wait for her to turn it back on.”
Tasia hardly ever barks, but when she does, the bark is a demand one must heed. At 6:50p, nearly without fail, Tasia jumps off the sofa and stands in front of us. Her big brown eyes lock onto ours, she rears up on her hind legs, then emphatically stomps her front legs on the floor. The stomp is followed by an insistent bark. The translation, you ask? “It’s time for my ice cream fur parents!” I attempt to reason with her, sharing that a treat implies an occasional deviation from her boiled organic chicken or beef and vegetables mixed with kibble. My reasoning is met with a direct stare into my soul that leaves no room for anything but compliance with the diva’s command. Because my husband has purposefully and willfully spoiled Tasia, he will grab his coat and keys and disappear into the night to fetch her favorite nighttime treat.
The moral of the story is that Yorkies are not really dogs at all. They are human divas disguised as cute furry animals whose eyes will melt the coldest heart. One does not own a Yorkie, one is owned by a Yorkie. Yorkie fur parents will understand…..