My dog is a feminist. She hates bras and men. Estrellita is her name. Little star.
As often as she can, Estrellita does us the honorable service of destroying our bras. With her cunning nose she hunts them down, wherever they may lurk, like the closet or my gym bag. Then, she uses her precise, vicious teeth to hack away at the confining wire hooks. You know, the part of the bra that makes it work? We are so grateful for her gift of liberation.
Estrellita is a little shit. …tzu… A little shih tzu! She’s a black and white shih tzu. She weighs in at a heavy 26 pounds after giving birth twice to a total of ten puppies.
They’ve all been sold off. After three months they stop being so cute, and Estrellita starts ignoring them. She’s a strong, independent female, remember. She doesn’t need any puppies sucking at her teats, weighing her down!
She doesn’t need any men in her life, either. Every man that comes near or through our home is an intruder who deserves to be barked at for thirty minutes straight, or until Estrellita gets tired. Whichever comes first!
The only man Estrellita tolerates is my father. The truth is, she plays him. When my dad visits my mother and I, Estrellita rushes at him on the couch and has him coddle her. He holds her and rubs her belly while she lies there, quiet and relaxed. She knows how to get what she wants.
But he’s still a man, and, as a member of his sex, he’s got to pay. We all know it. That’s why, on this last Christmas day, my father’s favorite day of the year, she took out her female vengeance.
Christmas Eve was celebrated with an enormous pork shoulder, roasted to perfection. Estrellita sat at attention nearby. Not begging, she’s strong, remember, but demanding with her cute, loveable eyes. My father, taking the manly role of cutting the meat (I don’t believe he had anything to do with cooking anything), made the executive decision to throw Estrellita the bone. The bone of a pig’s shoulder.
With a proud grin he told us, “This is going to make her the happiest dog in the world.”
The next morning, Christmas day, we woke up to the customary massive pile of presents from “Santa”, plus a pile of bone shards.
Where was the bone? Did that little dog eat that whole bone? You’d better believe it. She’s one tough lady.
Until she wasn’t.
About halfway into five hours of present opening, Estrellita started doing things we’ve never seen her do before. Strange things were coming out of her from both ends. She couldn’t control it. What color is her poo? Why is it so liquidy? Was that…blood?
Estrellita was not doing so good. She was sad, and slow. A shadow of her energetic, strong-willed self. She wouldn’t even play with her new toys.
“That’s it,” my mom said. “I’m taking my dog to the hospital.”
“Don’t you ever touch my dog again.” She told my father.
We piled into the car to the Animal Emergency Room. Me, my brother, my mom, my dad, and Estrellita. This was not part of our Christmas routine.
The receptionist stuck all five of us in a room to wait. Estrellita bloody diarrhea’d on the floor of that room three times before the vet came in to see us. She looked at us, ashamed and sorry to make such a stink. We had to take turns going outside for air.
Finally, the vet took a look, heard the story of our stupidity, and took Estrellita in overnight. She was put on an IV and given medications.
The final bill? $500.
Who do you think paid? My father, of course.
Estrellita knows what she’s doing.
But my father won’t be duped again. The other day, out of a lack of a backbone, my mother gave Estrellita a rib bone.
“What are you doing?!”, I yelled.
“I’m not paying,” was my father’s only response.