Oh, sweet Che.
Well, no one could technically classify her as "sweet." She could be fairly vicious -- or she was in her youth.
Checheateau Bow Wow. Don't ask. I was in fourth grade when I named her, and her nickname was Che-che. Lots of people spelled it Chi Chi. Drove me insane. But, after studying Spanish (and as Che-che is a Chihuahua), I realized they were right...but I didn't care. She's Che-che. And Che-che will be 16 years old this Friday.
Happy sweet 16, Che-che.
She's my dad's dog now, along with Puddin'. I left her with my parents while I went to college. The dorm rooms didn't want her in there, and she really didn't want to be with me. She wanted my dad. She tolerated me and my mom.
Don't get me wrong. She'd never bite you unless the biting was warranted. Like the time my friend Jenn touched her right where she got a shot that day (poor Jenn -- Che-che ate her up one arm and down the other). Or when my cousin Bryce put his arms inside her pet taxi, aka, her "sanctuary." When she got really mad, she knew how to handle things -- walk away. She'd escape in her pet taxi and sometimes, if she was REALLY ticked, she'd reach out and slam the door. When Bryce put his hands in after she went to her sanctuary...well, I mean, that was just asking for trouble.
I dressed her up. I remember her 1st birthday party. She wore a pink and yellow baby doll shirt and a party hat. It was a windy day. I'd like to think she had a good time.
Dad goes on walks with Puddin', but Che-che is "his" dog. And she knows it. While she doesn't snarl and bark at other dogs like she used to (after all, she's never considered herself a dog; she is the most esteemed member of the family), she has grown tolerance for Puddin' and for my Superdog. How can I tell that, you ask? Well, that picture above? Here's what it started out as:
She's a good dog, that Che-che.
Happy sweet 16th birthday, sweet baby.