Crowley

I often refer to him as my favorite mistake. At least weekly, I idly threaten banishment or relocation. Idly because the truth is, gigantic pain in the ass though he may sometimes be, this tiny dog provides us with love, laughter and, apart from when he’s attacking a stranger’s ankles, a lesson plan for a fulfilling life.

I had no intention of taking on another pet after leaving our two beloved beagle/Boston terriers behind. I was setting up a new home 1000 miles away from the one we’d left, caring for a newly-diagnosed chronically ill child, and responding to venomous divorce litigation. Apparently, the high cortisol levels seriously impaired my cognition, because I ultimately bought into the argument that having a creature to care for would be just what the Celtic Warrior Princess needed to navigate her crushing new reality.

Our down-sized living space called for a small dog. I left the research up to my resident dog whisperer, and in short order she’d declared that a male Chihuahua (of course, one of the loving, intelligent, funny ones) was the one for us. Because we had enough on our plate, we decided to avoid potential physical and behavioral problems and opt for a breeder rather than a rescue this time. Hilarious, I know.

We spent a lovely spring afternoon in the breeder’s back yard, meeting and cuddling the candidates for our new fur baby. We ultimately chose the fawn-colored apple head that was all eyes and ears, feeling he had just the right combination of calm and curiosity. After much deliberation, we settled on the name Crowley. With several weeks to go before he’d be ready to leave the litter, we eagerly prepared for his arrival.

His terror on the day he was delivered to us was palpable and had us concerned. By the next morning, though, he was relaxed and playful. Those first weeks were golden: we took him everywhere, he was game for anything, and he quickly became a local celebrity. He was pad and outdoor trained overnight. The Warrior Princess was smitten, and I had to grudgingly admit that this was a great idea.

Until it wasn’t. When her chronic illness flared a month or two later, she became essentially bedridden. When Crowley somehow contracted worms and left a few behind in her bed (no, those little white things were not grains of rice), her OCD, previously under control, went into overdrive. And then there was the discovery that the dog was allergic to just about everything. Now I was in charge of all things puppy in addition to my other “projects”. Spoiler alert: training and socialization just did not happen.

After long months alone with the two of us, Crowley morphed into the stereotypical overprotective, territorial Chihuahua. God help the pour soul who approached the building’s trash chute, conveniently located outside our door. Or any visitor to the apartment, especially male. For a while, we took comfort in the fact that he still fearlessly loved other dogs. His motto seemed to be the bigger, the better. Until a German shepherd attacked him as we started out on our walk one day.

We’ve lamented the fact that we have that Chihuahua; that others never get to see how adorable and loving he can be. We’ve tried various trainers, all who eventually became flummoxed by his combination of high intelligence and high anxiety. While we continue to hold out hope for an antidote to the ear-splitting barking, we’ve come to accept and even love the rest of his idiosyncrasies. His earnest efforts to win our approval are remarkably poignant. And he is hands down the best guide we’ve had on this journey.

Herewith, Crowley’s rules for a life worth living:

Greet each day with gratitude and wonder. Be wildly exuberant. Get out of bed like you’ve been launched from a cannon. Plant a few kisses on those you love as you dance and sing your way toward the great outdoors. Let them hear you shout “Yes! This! I get to do it all again!”

Stay curious. It doesn’t matter that you’ve patrolled every inch of the yard thousands of times. You still might get that gecko, or find a stick, or enjoy a new spot in the sun. See it all with fresh eyes every time.

Find your purpose. Without a purpose, or at least a productive activity, to channel that intelligence and energy, things can deteriorate rapidly. At best, you’re zooming maniacally up and down the length of the house. At worst, you’re tearing up the trash or raiding the laundry hamper just to stir up some excitement.

Go all in. Go big or go home. If you’re going to bark, do it at top volume. If you’re going to cuddle, pull back those bedcovers, climb in, and get close. If you’re going to sprint along the fence line with the big dog next door, run as hard as you can until he calls uncle.

Pace yourself. Such high levels of enthusiasm can be taxing. Regular rests and eight hours of sleep at night should not be negotiable. And occasionally you just need to chill.

Love unconditionally. Maybe your person didn’t give you much attention today or forgot your treat. Maybe they were even impatient or less than kind. Doesn’t matter. They’re your person, and you need to show them your fierce loyalty and love the hell out of them.