As told to Karel Kramer of Crazy Quill Writing/Driven Crazy Blog
My full name is “Just what do you think YOU’RE doing, Missy” or “Just where do you think YOU’RE going, Missy” but my owner has shortened it to just “Missy.”
It didn’t take me long to realize that not only is my owner poor at math (I’m actually 6 months old), but I have a better sense of direction than she does. If it wasn’t for me understanding what she meant when I was asked to take us “home” we might still be wandering the RV park in the dark (although daylight doesn’t seem to make much difference, either).
I was already housebroken when my owner purchased me. I’ve had only two accidents – and I defy YOU not to pee when a stranger picks you up from the only home you’ve known and drives you away in a rental car to who knows where. That and have you seen the size of the RV she drives? I bet more than one passenger nearly did what I did when I was in the front seat for the first time. I mean the RV was moving!
My owner is training me to obey her commands. She is determined to be the alpha female. (She said something about “learning her lesson with Michael.”). To date I’ve learned how to “sit” and “keep up” on our frequent walks. I also understand what’s expected when she puts a certain collar on me and says “Do your business, Missy.” She’s reading some illustrated book about training (imagine needing a big picture book at her age!) and taking advice from someone called Cousin #1, a real strict disciplinarian. Up until now I’ve won the stopping-to-sniff-everything battle but after my owner spoke with this particular person I was physically dragged by the collar to “keep up.” I finally gave in. Thanks a lot Cousin #1.
I understand that some of my owner’s friends thought she was out of her mind to consider buying a puppy, but I’m not just any puppy, I’m a pure-bred Toy Poodle. I’m worth every cent she paid for me because I’m smart and adorable. I’m also the more outgoing of the two of us and take the initiative in meeting our neighbors.
The picture I posted was taken by my first owners after I was separated from my mother. I was given as payment for the stud services of my father. Since the owners of my mother dropped me off when I was 6 weeks old, I don’t know if I was the pick of the litter or the runt.
In any event, I’m perfect. Or at least I was.
I had to use the old photo because you wouldn’t recognize me now. I’m dirty and bedraggled and my owner gets the burrs out of my fur using a scissors. Because she is determined to keep my hair short like hers, the old adage that dogs begin to look like their owners will soon be true. Alas.