It’s hard to pick my favorite thing about my family’s pandemic rescue chihuahua, Weenie, but if I had to, I think it’s when she’s been napping under a blanket, as in when she’s covered by the blanket completely, and a human she loves approaches and she can hear or smell us and her tail visibly wags beneath the blanket’s fleece. Or perhaps it’s her enthusiasm for car rides, and how when she notices that we’ve put on our shoes and are approaching the back door, she becomes frantic to go along, barking and running in circles, and then in the hall by the garage, in the middle of her franticness, she makes eye contact with us and flips on to her back for an impromptu belly rub because, really, is it ever a bad time? Or maybe it’s when I’m sitting on the couch reading and she jumps up and wedges herself as close as she can beside me and sets her perfect little whiskered chin on my thigh, as if my thigh was designed to be a chihuahua chin platform, which, although I didn’t know it for most of my life, maybe it was.
