On my way back to Tijuana Friday night, I came inches away from making a Chihuahua pancake. A cute little blond thing it was, and the poor little gal was shaking and shivering on the side of the road. I pulled over and picked the dog up and put her in my car, what else was there to do?
I couldn’t take the dog with me to Tijuana, though (it never would have made it back without the proper papers), so I dropped the quivering little thing off at a friend’s place. I got a few phone calls that night.
Ring one: She pooped inside.
Ring Two: She was digging up the floor and chewing things.
Ring Three: She was barking in the middle of the night.
Oops. Anyway, I drove back to San Diego early Saturday morning and — against my desire to either keep the dog or give it to another one of my friends — I took it to the Humane Society. I hope the owners figure it out, ’cause if not, the little Paris dog is gonna be back in my care. I couldn’t say no to the found-dog check-in lady….she just kept looking at me like, you’re not gonna just abandon the little dog, are you?
And plus, I was on my way to Mexico…Chihuahuas are Mexican dogs, is that a meaningless coincidence or does it mean I should keep the dog? My inner animal lover says the dog was meant to be my little Mexican companion, but my coworkers, family and friends say ‘don’t be an idiot, you KNOW you can’t take care of a dog, especially a needy little Chihuahua.’ We’ll see what I decide.
UPDATE: The owners claimed the pooch two days after I dropped her off!