The Last of Us

In a post-apocalyptic world, I would not last long but my chihuahua would. 

Daisy has the ability to charm her way through any situation. She has only really socialized with her older sister, Dolce. Dolce was a fifteen year old chiweenie who had the body of a pumpkin loaf. A fat, dense body with little legs and the curly tail of a pig. Sadly she passed a week ago and we have overcompensated our grief with spoiling Daisy. 

Does Daisy want to sleep upstairs, a zone previously forbidden? Of course she does.

Does Daisy want to go for a drive and pick up the youngest from school? Why wouldn’t she?

Does Daisy want to go for a thirty minute drive to the farmers market in Sacramento? Need you even ask? 

There, Daisy met a beautiful white chihuahua who wanted to smell Daisy. I gave Daisy some time to gently approach her but the other dog was not having it.

The white chihuahua growled and tried to charge her.

Sorry, Daisy. It appears you have a nemesis. Maybe she is having a bad day. Maybe you’ll hit it off later. 

Humans marveled at her four pound size. “Is she full grown?” “How old is she?” “Does she bark?”

Yes, three years old, and thank goodness she doesn’t bark unless you’re a solicitor ringing the doorbell. 

Anytime a human made eye contact, Daisy pulled out her secret weapon. 

A tiny front paw raised ever so lightly and slowly. You can’t help but say, “Aw!”

And she can’t help but soak up the attention. 

Daisy then met a French Bulldog.

And another.

And another. 

All three glanced at her but kept walking.

One golden retriever avoided Daisy like the plague.

My guess is that they have encountered chihuahuas similar to the white one earlier - explosive, shrill, unpredictable.

Daisy did pretty well. She demanded I purchase some snacks for the ride home. We walked back to the car carrying sweet cherries, blueberries the size of garbanzo beans, Mexican seasoning, and banana pudding. 

As we passed the last vendor, we heard a familiar ferocious barking.

It was the white chihuahua, sitting in a decadent fluffy pink dog bed which was perched on top of a cooler. 

Dolce turned to make eye contact and said, “You haven’t seen the last of us.”

And that is how I know Daisy would survive an apocalyptic world.