My dog, Jordy, (well, he isn’t really my dog, but he thinks he is) he’s a chug. A chug is a mixture between a pug and a chihuahua. He’s sort of on that thin line between ugly and cute, but he’s pretty intelligent. Pugs aren’t known for their towering intellect, so he must have gotten that bit from his ma.
Jord is a ball and critter aficionado, as opposed to the stick and rope-loving sort of beastie. He loves his red rubber sqeaky ball, and his yellow rubber squeaky doll, and his other 8,000 balls that don’t squeak anymore because he de-squeaked them in an orgy of chewing ardor.
I also found out early that he liked stuffed animals. We found that out cus Sierra makes her bed in the morning with ‘Teddy’ laid neatly on the pillow. When she would come home, Teddy would have been up to all sorts of adventures. We’d find him under the bed, waiting in the hall, or shoved partway under the pillow with a soggy sleeve. Sometimes he’d even made the long trek upstairs to hide under the coffee table, and on one occasion he was in the garage, hanging out in Jordy’s bed.
Sierra wasn’t pleased with Jordy’s dedicated affection. Understandable: Most people would not be too keen to cuddle up with dog drool. So I looked for a toy, and came home one day with ‘Bunsy’. Bunsy was a little brown rabbit shaped toy. He was kinda fuzzy, but Jordy loved that. He loved to chew on Bunsy. He looked like he was ripping the rabbit apart, tugging one leg stubbornly in his mouth. It was a little grotesque to watch, but Bunsy made Jordy happy, and he also made Teddy safe.
Except, of course, Jordy quickly tore Bunsy apart at the seams and left the horror of polyfill guts for us to discover strewn across the floor.
But that’s okay. It’s okay, because shortly thereafter, Grandma Engstrom gave us some bizarre stocking-stuffers for Christmas. Puzzled, we all palmed our grey, white, beaked and bug-eyed furbies and looked to grandma for explanation. I didn’t even know you could still *get* furbies! This bizarre fad went out several years ago. These seemed to be overstocked leftovers put out optimistically by our back-water Fred Meyer. “I thought they were cute.” Grandma said, defensively.
My brother, mom and I looked at each other with the same thought in mind. “How soon can we get rid of this?”
These were not the talking, moving furbies, but really just rotund little bean-bag furbies with hard, staring eyes. Bryan ‘accidentally’ left his at grandma’s and went home to Portland, so I took both of ours home, nestled on the top of my loot.
Jordy was in love! No sooner did I set my stuff down than Jordy was sniffing the furbies with trembling excitement. I pulled one of the ugly toys out and handed it over. Jordy, who has a very large ruff but a rather small head, took the thing in his mouth and began to parade it all over like a boxing trophy.
This tableau looked ridiculous. Jordy carrying the furby looked like a guinea-pig trying to devour a football. It must have been uncomfortable for him to hold in his mouth, but I guess that’s love. “He’s not heavy, he’s my furby.”
Jord still has one of the furbies. It’s the most disgusting dog-toy on the planet. He has drooled all over it, so the fur is matted and hard and seasoned with grime. It used to smell awful, but now the bacteria seems to have petrified. I tried to throw it out once, in the garbage under the sink, but Jordy stood by the little door and barked and barked.
He got to keep the furby.
But don’t be thinking Jord forgot all about his dear friend Bunsy. Oh no, not so. On Easter last, Sierra was to receive a pretty basket with blue colored eggs, chocolate, and a lovely black and white plush Easter Bunny.
You can probably guess what happened: Slow to dress, Sierra didn’t make it upstairs before Jordy came in, and when she went to get her basket, Jordy was already under the coffee table giving her new friend a christening.
Meh. What’s Easter without a little drool behind the ears?