Those jealous dogs / Always on the alert
A few years ago, my buddy gave his wife a pair of chihuahuas as a present. Now that I'm staying with them, they've become my companions.
Don't they look adorable?
Of course--in still photographs. In real life, though, they move.
I call them the Millicujos.
They open their little jaws and bark at the slightest noise, often for close to a half hour before settling down. Usually, it's the elderly elevator in our brownstone that sets them off, but sometimes the stimulus appears to originate somewhere around the kitchen skylight--a creak caused by the wind? the piping of a bird? Usually I can't make it out. No trouble making out their response, though.
The blond with the limpidly innocent gaze is, you shouldn't need to be told, the more implacably hostile of the two when the public isn't around to observe. Not by all that much, though. His darker, younger brother is a willing accomplice.
J. and his wife have nicknamed them "the Woofies." This is a courtesy title, about as connected with reality as "Princess Di." These two wouldn't be able to produce a butch, baritone, thrillingly menacing "woof!" if they sold their souls to Cerberus. Even "yap!" errs somewhat in the direction of resonance, as far as I'm concerned. My conclusion--borne of repeated and lengthy exposure--is that "arp!" is the best transcription of the noise they make (and make and make and make and make).
They've grown accustomed to me now, so they'll sometimes jump up into my lap when I'm trying to type. Mostly, though, they still eye me with deep suspicion. Unless I've just cooked something along the savory/buttery/meaty axis, that is. Then I become their new best friend. Their little eyes liquefy, and (I swear) they pout. For those who've been wondering why they're not hearing more about how adjusting to New York has been, a major reason is that I'm too busy defending my breakfast eggs.
Don't they look adorable?
Of course--in still photographs. In real life, though, they move.
I call them the Millicujos.
They open their little jaws and bark at the slightest noise, often for close to a half hour before settling down. Usually, it's the elderly elevator in our brownstone that sets them off, but sometimes the stimulus appears to originate somewhere around the kitchen skylight--a creak caused by the wind? the piping of a bird? Usually I can't make it out. No trouble making out their response, though.
The blond with the limpidly innocent gaze is, you shouldn't need to be told, the more implacably hostile of the two when the public isn't around to observe. Not by all that much, though. His darker, younger brother is a willing accomplice.
J. and his wife have nicknamed them "the Woofies." This is a courtesy title, about as connected with reality as "Princess Di." These two wouldn't be able to produce a butch, baritone, thrillingly menacing "woof!" if they sold their souls to Cerberus. Even "yap!" errs somewhat in the direction of resonance, as far as I'm concerned. My conclusion--borne of repeated and lengthy exposure--is that "arp!" is the best transcription of the noise they make (and make and make and make and make).
They've grown accustomed to me now, so they'll sometimes jump up into my lap when I'm trying to type. Mostly, though, they still eye me with deep suspicion. Unless I've just cooked something along the savory/buttery/meaty axis, that is. Then I become their new best friend. Their little eyes liquefy, and (I swear) they pout. For those who've been wondering why they're not hearing more about how adjusting to New York has been, a major reason is that I'm too busy defending my breakfast eggs.
Posted by Sean on
2008-05-12 20:26:45
Glad you're enjoying NYC!
I hope I get to see Coco again soon, Eric.
Food treats create a temporary lull from barking. Etiquette classes are badly needed.
Pictures here