The Fearsomely Ferocious Dog

He was tiny as a puppy, could comfortably fit in a person's hand. And he didn't mind that at all, instinctively taking pleasure from the warmth thus transmitted. He was delicate, had a pair of fabulously luminously-large eyes, and a picky appetite. As he grew, so did his hair, voluminously. He resembled a mop more than he did a little dog. In fact, his people had a little fuzzy bed for him, and its interior was the same colour as his hair. Curled up in that little bed one would never suspect a little dog was there, he blended so perfectly with the interior.

In so doing, he risked being stepped on. Good thing the only one doing that stepping-upon was the peoples' infant grandchild. Still, the distress that brought to the little animal was manifested by its yipping protest, and the child was admonished to exercise greater care in future. The future brought age to the tiny dog and the child, both. And while the child learned the lessons carefully taught her, the tiny dog went his own inimitable way. Tiny he might be, but ferocious also.

To this tiny dog's way of thinking rabbits were very nice, cats were tolerable, squirrels awaited conquest, and dogs - well, dogs of any description, any size, were abominable creatures not to be tolerated. Not, in any event, by him. Meanwhile, he was so small for so long that he was never walked on a leash, but set into a camera bag, slung over a shoulder and carried about everywhere. He was more than comfortable in his little bag, and on seeing it on the floor, would hop in and settle himself down for transit.

Eventually it came time to teach him that he could wear a collar and a harness, and be attached to a leash. He would now walk on his legs, like any respectable quadruped, through the neighbouring woodlands for daily exercise. Everything attracted his curiosity, but most especially bugs and insects he might come across on the forest floor. They represented hunting potential and he tracked them with his nose - and then - pounced.

His people tried all manner of persuasive ploys to divert his attention from the presence of other, oncoming dogs on the trails, but nothing quite succeeded. He was ultra-aware, and reacted predictably unfortunately; barking, snarling and generally behaving abominably, an embarrassment to the people he was with, but an act of overweening hubris on his part. Tiny he might be, but he had the courage - or the stupidity - of a giant.

He would indeed, unless restrained, physically attack astonished giant dogs, like German shepherds, dobermans, huskies. Apologies were proffered and his people hurried along with him, admonishing him for his obnoxious behaviour. They tried using a cap pistol to startle him when he would begin barking at other dogs, tried squirting lemon juice at him, tried carrying a tin can full of pennies they'd jangle but to no avail.

He was his own hero, and that was that, simply put. Oh, there was one dog for whom special dispensation was given, an old, overweight and most amenable beagle, whom the tiny dog did virtual leaps of joy over and around; his own, very favourite companion animal. Who responded to the tiny dog's antics and expressions of love by attempting to channel him under his considerable weight with a certain act in mind.

When summer was spent and cooler weather heralded, the tiny dog responded by communicating to his people his misery. Upon which little sweaters would be pulled over his head and legs and back, and the bliss of warmth would be re-established. In the winter months daily excursions into the woods continued, but now the tiny dog was outfitted in a cozily-warm winter jacket and hand-made boots to ensure his body heat would not be lost.

On one occasion walking on a snow-deep trail, his person lacked alacrity when a malamute suddenly appeared and the tiny dog lunged at it. The malamute responded by taking the tiny dog into its great maw and holding it there. The tiny dog's snarls turned immediately to squeals of indignation and fear. His fearful person bent on knees on the snow-tamped trail, to gently pry him from the jaws of the complacent malamute.

His people were truly perplexed. Their loving little - sorry, tiny - companion who would never miss an opportunity to leap upon their laps if they were seated reading the newspapers and cuddle up, to sleep, and who, at night burrowed deep under the covers in bed alongside them, never moving throughout the entire night, could not be cured of his aggression toward other dogs. They hadn't had him neutered, fearing the consequences of anaesthesia.

Finally, however, the deed was done. He was brought home in utter misery and pain, whimpering and cuddling close to his people. They dressed him in infant-wear, to ensure he would not incessantly lick the source of his pain, a sutured wound. And they cradled him, and spoke gently to him, and reassured him, and the world once again seemed a reasonable place for an apricot toy poodle.

Alas, although his markings in the house ceased, his aggression toward other dogs did not. Mind, once he had seen another dog on a number of occasions and had become familiar with it, he no longer felt hostile toward it. Not like those anonymous dogs (and horses) appearing on the television screen from time to time who required constant vigilance lest they invade the safety and security of his home.

And now he demonstrated a hitherto-absent and profound interest in food. All manner of food. And as much of it as he could scarf, licitly and otherwise. And his once-delicate frame began to fill out. Which did not stop him from energetically matching stride with his people, even to completing half-day treks up and down (modest-sized) mountains to achieve a summit, then return to base.

In the spring he would sense the presence of increasing warmth and sun. Oh the sun, the powerful warming rays of the sun; he adored the sun. Even on cooler days on spring's arrival he would insist on sitting outdoors if the sun was full out, soaking up its warmth, revelling in its comfort; it was his element and the medium of his quality of life. Still is.

He is older, and wiser in some ways, but not too many. His every wish is his peoples' command, so in that sense he is wiser than they.