Moving from a city to a small town definitely gives you an opportunity to get to know the people you live near. In some cases, this is great (thanks, Frank, for mowing my backyard with your tractor), but in other cases, it makes me want to move back to the dirty 'Burn. My main reason: the chihuahua people that live down the road.
Now, I've never been a big fan of the chihuahua, since I was bitten by one while on vacation in the Adirondacks at the tender age of five. I find them to be yippy, repulsive, icky little cretins. Obviously some people are fond of the creatures; the AKC describes them as "graceful, alert and swift-moving with a saucy expression."
I have to respectfully disagree with the AKC. I do not find a tiny dog bouncing around like a Mexican jumping bean to be graceful. They might be alert and swift moving, but probably only because they are looking for the next person to bit. And saucy? The only thing that is saucy about this is the sweater:
I haven't had a run-in with a chihuahua in a long time, probably because I avoid them if at all possible, or maybe because I interact with three of the few responsible chihuahua owners on the planet. You know, the ones who actually train their tiny rat-dogs, instead of thinking, "Oh, how darling, little Elsbeth just bit that five-year-old girl in the face." Sadly, my new neighbors are not in that small group of society. Oh no. They let their 15 chihuahuas (that I am pretty sure they are breeding in order to supplement their monthly check from the great state of New York), run rampant. Out of their trailer, all over the yard, in the road, in front of cars, and after me while I'm jogging.
My first interaction with being chased by the rat-dogs ended in a few snappish words from Chihuahua Daddy, who told me to keep my hands off his dogs as I was trying to herd the things out of the road, and away from traffic. I told him that the next time the dogs ran after me, I wouldn't stop, except to enjoy the possibilities when the next Ford F350 comes rarin' down the road directly towards his herd. Day Two, I didn't stop, and a freaking rat-dog chased me down the road and bit me. Partly my fault, since I'm so out of shape that I can't even outrun a rat dog. Even so, now I'm pissed. I would sue them, but considering my taxes are supporting them, I'd really just be suing myself. I think I'm gonna send my cat Henry down there, though. He catches rabbits bigger than those dogs.
Now, I've never been a big fan of the chihuahua, since I was bitten by one while on vacation in the Adirondacks at the tender age of five. I find them to be yippy, repulsive, icky little cretins. Obviously some people are fond of the creatures; the AKC describes them as "graceful, alert and swift-moving with a saucy expression."
I have to respectfully disagree with the AKC. I do not find a tiny dog bouncing around like a Mexican jumping bean to be graceful. They might be alert and swift moving, but probably only because they are looking for the next person to bit. And saucy? The only thing that is saucy about this is the sweater:
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| Image courtesy of Stewart Miles / FreeDigitalPhotos.net |
I haven't had a run-in with a chihuahua in a long time, probably because I avoid them if at all possible, or maybe because I interact with three of the few responsible chihuahua owners on the planet. You know, the ones who actually train their tiny rat-dogs, instead of thinking, "Oh, how darling, little Elsbeth just bit that five-year-old girl in the face." Sadly, my new neighbors are not in that small group of society. Oh no. They let their 15 chihuahuas (that I am pretty sure they are breeding in order to supplement their monthly check from the great state of New York), run rampant. Out of their trailer, all over the yard, in the road, in front of cars, and after me while I'm jogging.
My first interaction with being chased by the rat-dogs ended in a few snappish words from Chihuahua Daddy, who told me to keep my hands off his dogs as I was trying to herd the things out of the road, and away from traffic. I told him that the next time the dogs ran after me, I wouldn't stop, except to enjoy the possibilities when the next Ford F350 comes rarin' down the road directly towards his herd. Day Two, I didn't stop, and a freaking rat-dog chased me down the road and bit me. Partly my fault, since I'm so out of shape that I can't even outrun a rat dog. Even so, now I'm pissed. I would sue them, but considering my taxes are supporting them, I'd really just be suing myself. I think I'm gonna send my cat Henry down there, though. He catches rabbits bigger than those dogs.
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