The Audacity

I can see that my mama is getting ready for bed, and that means it’s time for my morning routine.

While mama brushes her teeth, I climb off my bed of pillows and towels, and sniff expectantly at my food bowl.

Then, I go stand right behind mama’s feet, so I know right where she is.

Mama fills up my food bowl and puts my pillows and blankets into the washing machine. They need to be cleaned a lot, because I am getting old and having trouble with wetting the bed.

My mama likes dogs. She is the best human dog mama.

My mama is afraid of dogs too. Sometimes, some dogs.

The neighbor dogs are big and mean. They think they can go wherever they want, and their human never does anything to keep them away from other dogs and their humans. They fight, and bark, and bite people.

They bit my mama when she was a small human, so now she is afraid of them.

She likes me though.

I am not big or mean. I am a chihuahua.

I could bite people if I wanted to, but I don’t, because I'm a lady.

Also because the vet had to pull all my teeth last year.

Sometimes, my tongue hangs out of my mouth because there are no teeth to hold it in, but that just means I’m adorable.

Mama tells me I am adorable, so it’s definitely true.

Mama also tells me that I’m a pain in the butt, but I think sometimes mama is just a little tired.

Before she goes to bed, my mama takes me outside to go potty. She carries me to the bottom of the big stairs, because my joints hurt and it’s hard for me to climb them.

It’s warm and dry outside, and still a little light, because it's summer and the daytime is really long.

The neighbor dogs come sniffing like they own the place.

They stand at the top of the driveway, staring as I finish my business and my mama picks me up to help me back up the big stairs.

Then, they have the audacity, the sheer unadulterated gall, to bark at my mama.

The biggest one lunges down the driveway like he’s going to attack.

I lose my cool a little bit.

Leaping from my mama’s hands, I land with exactly as much grace and dignity as you would expect from a small and dainty dog such as myself, dropped from human height.

As the neighbor dogs take their first aggressive strides into my yard, towards my mama, I scramble through the dirt and gravel, straight for them.

I am a fantastic runner. My legs are so short that when I sprint my butt drags the ground because I am going so fast, just like a rocket.

I don’t bark.

I don’t growl.

I don’t bare my teeth (because I don’t have any).

I don’t consider the consequences of charging the neighbor dogs, who are much bigger and meaner than me. Who fight and bark and bite things all the time.

I just charge right back at those disrespectful thugs who barked at my mama.

They get the message.

Having something small, fast, and silent bolt at them is just enough to make those puffed up losers stop charging.

They skid to halt as I race up the driveway, perplexed, then wary, then scared.

One of them growls, but I do not so much as slow down.

The big, mean neighbor dogs draw back, their shoulders hunch and their tails go down.

They turn tail and get lost.

They oughta.

I chase them to the very end of the driveway.

Since the driveway is not flat, and I am very flat when I run as fast as I can, I trip as the ground curves up, and flip, ass-over-teakettle, into the dirt.

A little cloud of dust puffs up into the air where I land, marking my spectacular victory.

I roll back onto my paws and turn my back on where those barking, biting cowards used to be, and prance triumphantly back to my mama.

Mama is a smidge upset.

Probably because of those stupid neighbor dogs being big and mean and coming into our yard.

It could not possibly have anything to do with me charging at two dogs who could easily eat me, if they had the guts.

Mama carries me back into the house and sets me down on a fresh bed of pillows and towels.

I get a treat.