Outside the health food store, two very small, fat-free, organic hairless dogs were tied to a post. They had gotten tangled in each others' leashes, and were trembling with cold. Flip and I stooped to pet them. They responded with affection that seemed way beyond friendliness. More like gratitude. The kind of gratitude that makes you suspect they don't get much coddling at home.
Their owner came out of the store. She was a pretty young blond who was clearly angry that we were petting her dogs. I never understand this reaction in dog owners. Are they afraid that their dogs will like somebody else better? Or maybe their dognapper paranoia has kicked in. She acted as if she had caught us lounging against her Mercedes, perhaps pissing on the tires.
I asked if the dogs were Whippet puppies. She preened a little and told me they were Italian Greyhounds. She added that this is a Rare Breed. Her attitude conveyed that we were contaminating them with our plebeian, probably dirty, hands.
I got the feeling that she regarded them as accessories, very expensive accessories that would proclaim to the world how incredibly special she was. And if they froze to death, which seemed likely from all the shivering going on, she would just replace them like dead flowers.
Dogs deserve better.
I ended up my travels at the beach, playing with dogs and children. I used up all my film, and headed for the parking lot.
That was when it happened. Right before I got to the car, I saw the most adorable small dog I have ever seen, smiling at me from her leash. She looked like a fox. (I mean like the animal, fox, not .. well, you know.)
I'm in love again. I can't believe it. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I wasn't looking, and I didn't intend to change my life. But it hit me right between the eyes anyway. Damn that Cupid.
I am a big dog person. The bigger they are, the harder I fall. Big as horses, no problem. ( I also love horses, as it happens, but I never, ever get the two confused.) I just really love big dogs.
She hurled herself at me. She was both elegant and adorable. Her smile was enchanting. Her fur was plushy. If Audrey Hepburn had been a dog, she would have been this dog.
She was also immaculate. My wolf could play in the surf, roll in sand and shake herself clean in seconds. Dogs cannot do this. But there she was, clean as a shaft of sunlight playing on field stone.
And she loved me, too.
"I can't understand it," her owner said. "She's usually not that friendly."
I didn't rise to the bait. I was kneeling in the parking lot, getting doggie kisses all over my face. Grinning stupidly.
The lady tugged on her leash. Our little illicit tryst was about to end. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
I asked the nice lady what breed she was as she dragged Audrey away. Over her shoulder, she called back, "Shina inu. It's Japanese."
I came home and Googled it. Here she is.
I really, really have to have a dog like this.
