Senorita Jakita – Angel or Devil in Disguise?

So by now you know the truth – I am not some Angel puppy, even if I look like one, in some pictures. No, I am  the kind of doggie who can turn in to a little devil with a pitch fork and a long tail –  (I noticed BB the Bad Beastie Cat was like that too). I was not at all like my black and white brother, Fidel, (the very colour  Momma was looking for) and an absolute Angel Boy from the time he was born or at least from the time his wobbly little legs could support him,

February is a cruel month to be born in a puppy mill in the True North Strong and Free.  You have to find a way to stay warm and  a flat-out run keeps the blood flowing. My two other siblings joined in the hi-jinx I organized, chasing the barn kitties, getting a good swat from Mama Cat as we passed by her, then pouncing on unsuspecting chickens, who would flap their wings and squawk in indignation. Yet Fidel would hang back and scamper to the shelter of our Baby Mama, who always seemed cold, hungry, and lethargic. Now that I know more, I suspect Baby Mama suffered from postpartum depression. I was just what poor Mama did not need.  I may have been considered myself smarter than Fidel but he beat me hands down on having common sense.

I remember the day the barn door opened, early one morning, and a couple of the dreaded  Two Footed creatures, stomped in, communicating in a sing-song conversation.  They marched over to our lair, where  we were all still sleeping in a tight ball around Mama. My brother, two sisters and I were yanked from our Mama and put in a hard plastic carrying case.  I can still hear Mama’s whimpers that turned to a louder and louder warble, as a cacophony of barn animals joined in.  I looked at my Baby Mama, one last time, communicating, ‘Don’t worry, Mama.  We will be good.  You taught us right from wrong.  I will try to behave more like Fidel. ‘

The Two Footed Creature who took us to her home seemed okay. She was not Baby Mama but she freed us from our cages and let us run around and around her apartment.  Then we were set up in wire cages, the type you see out of,  so you can survey your surroundings.  She told us she was going to start teaching us English since this would be the language of our Forever Families.  So much for a puppy to absorb and learn and pass on to her siblings.

Still, sometimes being the leader sucks. When I was a pup I had a big head for a little dog. It helped me assimilate facts faster than a speeding bullet.  At one point it seemed my head was too big for my body. However,you will be happy to know, once I reached maturity my body grew in proportion to my head, thanks for asking.

By now, I am betting, you are asking, so how did you get to your Forever Family? Momma, you guessed it, being analytical and internet savvy, researched what breed would suit her family, based on what they wanted in a puppy. BINGO –  Havanese,  what the heck is a Havanese, they wondered?

Momma brought up images and tell me, what is not to love – we are exceptionally beautiful, small yet sturdy, coming in a plethora of colors, with fur that looks great in a Puppy Cut or long and flowing in our adult years, (if you hang out at dog shows).

Problem was,  Momma was smitten by my black and white brother Fidel. He absolutely had stolen a piece of her heart, with his good looks and better manners. Momma did not particularly want a female puppy like me, at least not one maybe smarter than she was.  Having Wonder Boy for a son, she had her fill of being challenged by a brain that worked faster than hers, don’t you know.

Fidel,  such a tragic story, I don’t want to talk about it because it still moves me to tears. Anyway it is  not my story to tell. Let us just say, I left with Momma  but I almost felt a resistance from her to love me completely – like she had been cajoled by family members to give me a home.  Do not get me wrong. She hugged me, petted me, trained me, walked me, played with me,  looked after me 24/7. Everybody’s got a story, man.

Yet it was in the way Momma   bristled so quickly when that little devil, with the long tail, the pointed ears and the pitchfork, surfaced in me. I mean, who knew I was supposed to chew the toys and bones provided, not shoes, Kleenex, paper, or furniture or whatever crossed my path.

I was well versed in  barn manners, as were all the farm animals, where survival of the fittest depended on having food to eat, shelter from the variable weather conditions and protection from our fellow stable mates, be they mooing cows, whinnying horses or any other Two or Four Footed friend or foe.  There was no one  in the barn who said, ‘Go,  Stop or No’ and a firm hand was needed to reign in the likes of me.

That leaves only me to blame, cause Momma tried……