MY RUBBER DUCKY. (I Mean Chicken) Pt. 1

Our precious little Shih Tzu has lived a deprived life.

I only realized it in the past couple of days. You see, my daughter and grandson have been with us as the result of Hurricane Matthew. And did I mention, their pet Chihuahua joined them? (Well, he did). And did I mention Toby brought his squeaky toy with him? (Well, he did). 

The pink rubber toy is shaped like a bone. A very large one. Did I mention the space between Toby’s teeth, gums and tongue is just large enough to devour one grape at a time? (Well, it is). And thus, the little tyke’s ability to grasp the bone and move it from place to place is a bit limited. 

On the other hand, our ten or twelve year old Queenie has made do without a squeaky toy for the last three plus years she has lived on Shadow Wood Lane; (and seemed none the poorer for it). 

However, 

the presence of the bone-shaped squeaky toy presented a whole new variable.

For no sooner did Queenie see the rubber toy, than she unilaterally took possession of it. (But not without some small dispute). While Queenie and the much younger Toby are equally small in stature, the former outweighs the latter by six or eight pounds. And though Queenie has generally respected the stronger Toby, and hasn’t fared well when she has challenged him, given the presence of the squeaky toy, ‘all bets were off.’ 

For never since Queenie came to reside here have I seen her in such singular form. Our normally sedate pooch ‘laid into’ Toby with a vengeance. Snout to snout. Tooth and nail. And after about thirty seconds Toby decided he’d met his match. The perky little Chihuahua backed off; content to suffer Queenie’s thievery; (‘til his master would scoop him and his rightful possessions up and set a course for home).

As I witnessed the selfish little charade, (and since the storm was waning and I was headed out the door to pick up some groceries) it occurred to me fulfill one of the only ‘wants’ Queenie has ever expressed. I knew it when I saw it. An orange, rubber-necked representation of a chicken. Did I mention that when squeezed the thing emits a sound like a baby’s cry? (Well, it does). I had to have it. I mean, my aged pooch is easily worth $5.99; (if not a wee bit more).

Well, once I arrived home, tore off the price tag, and tossed it to Queenie, it seemed I’d created a Frankenstein. The little Shih Tzu attacked it like it was a demon outta Hades. She barked, and she trembled, and she ‘carried on.’ And every time the rubber chicken moaned or groaned, she renewed her attack. 

(to be continued)

  By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 43. Copyright pending

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