Which shocks their parents to no end. Even parents who work with dogs for a living! Over the years, I have had not only a receptionist befuddled by her new pup, but a veterinarian as well.
A vet! Someone who has practiced for over a decade. Completely clueless when it came to a little, one-pound Maltese. The smaller, the less trouble, right?
Read on!
Tales from the Tea Cup:
“Miss Buttercream Cupcake”
Before we dive into the story of “Cupcake,” I want to mention that I get teased incessantly at work regarding my love of “Littleness.” The other veterinarians chuckle and just shake their heads when I wax poetic about my Chihuahuas.
That is, until the day a little Maltese came in from a pet store very anemic with worms. The pet store couldn’t afford to treat the puppy, so my colleague adopted the little bundle.
My colleague handled the medicinal care like the champ that she is. She treated the pup promptly, turning a life-threatening situation around on a dime.
Then came the nursing care. Nurturing that pup back to health. Having her thrive.
Needless to say, it didn’t go well. The pup wouldn’t eat, and they were struggling with her low blood sugar. Plus, she was so thin that she was having a hard time making new blood cells.
Desperate, my colleague came to me to consult on the case. The medicine was perfect. It was the nursing care that wasn’t up to “tea cup” standards.
Very matter-of-factly, I told her that she was going to have to completely adore the puppy. So much so that she needed to give over her life to the puppy. Everything had to be about the puppy. The puppy could be the only thing in her world.
She laughed heartily, and then realized that I wasn’t joking. “But I have two kids.”
“I know,” I responded. I told her that they should also turn their lives over to her as well. The more people who were “worshipping” her, the more it would help.
My friend shook her head at my “theatrics” and took the puppy home.
You see, she had always had large dogs. Springer Spaniels, Labradors, and even a Great Dane. If the puppy were hungry, she would eat. As she said, there was every biological reason to eat. Survival instinct had to kick in at some point.
I smiled and said, “Sure, you just keep telling yourself that.”
So the next morning, my colleague came up to me. “So talk to me about this giving-over-of-your-life-force-thing.”
The night before, the pup refused to eat—even spitting out food force-fed to her. Then her blood sugar would go so low that she would have tremors. My colleague feared that the pup wouldn’t survive if she couldn’t get her to eat.
Not worried, I showed her how to snuggle the pup (which is totally different from just holding her—there’s lots of baby talk and kisses). I was about to show her how to feed the puppy when my colleague was called to an appointment.
Not giving it a second thought, I snuggled with the puppy and told her all the reasons I loved her. I covered her head with kisses and warmed up the food. I watched her eat, but wasn’t satisfied with how much she had taken in. I then put some of the slurry into a syringe and let her lick it off the tip (which, for some reason, pups are fascinated by).
I repeated this cycle (cuddling and making sure the food was at the exact temperature she liked) until “Cupcake’s” belly was full (I mean, like a tick’s).
My colleague came back into the room and was shocked! The pup had never eaten that much in an entire day before!
Then she found out the pup had eaten it all by herself (well, you know, except for me holding the syringe for her).
As I was explaining my technique to my friend, I put the puppy in her crate. My colleague laughed. The pup would never tolerate going in there. She was certain that “Cupcake” would whine and fuss, burning even more calories trying to get out.
I shook my head. Those were behaviors of a hungry puppy. “Cupcake” needed a nap so that she could digest. I put the baby in her crate, covered it, and we didn’t hear another peep out of her for four hours.
From there on out, “Cupcake” did amazingly well. She thrived. Her blood sugar stabilized. Her red cells multiplied. Within the week, she was able to come off of iron supplements.
With our little guys, medicine isn’t enough. Nursing care, and convincing them that life is worth living, is equally important.
Now my colleague is as much a true believer as I am. “Littleness” isn’t just a size. It is a condition!
Tales from the Tea Cup:
“Hermione” – How Many Calories Does Love Have?
I sometimes forget what life was like without “Littleness.”
How rational and straightforward it seemed. Just like my colleague, I used logic to help me treat the pets brought to me.
If an animal were hungry, it would eat. That seemed pretty much set in stone.
Then I got Chihuahuas. I realized that for many of them, being hungry and ingesting food had nothing to do with one another.
This point was brought home when one of my receptionists adopted an abandoned Chihuahua puppy. It had lots of problems—circling, stumbling, and not eating.
Another doctor saw the pup and diagnosed it with about three fairly serious conditions. I probably would have done so back in the days before I realized what a big problem “Littleness” could be.
Worried as she was, waiting for the test results, the receptionist came to me, asking what she should do. I told her the same thing that I told my colleague. “Give up your life, and just love the puppy until she takes in enough calories.”
“But you don’t understand! ‘Hermione’ won’t eat!”
They were certain something neurological was wrong with the puppy (even a vet can be fooled by the more extreme “Littleness” behaviors), because “Hermione” would eat a few bites, wander away crying, and then would start to circle.
“She’s just hungry.”
My receptionist got more and more agitated. Obviously, I didn’t “get it.” “But the food is right there!”
“And your point would be?”
Before she could get any more worked up, I put the pup down with a bowl of food. Sure enough, she ate two bites, and then wandered away. So I picked the pup up, gave her snuggles and kisses, and then put her back at the bowl. She ate two more bites, and then tried to wander away.
Each time, I stopped her. I gave her some love and kisses, then put her back to her food bowl. Soon she was eating four bites at a time, and then six bites. I would love to say eight bites, but that would be way too much to expect!
Now, of course, this took fifteen minutes to accomplish, but the puppy not only had a big fat “tick” belly, but she curled up and fell asleep!
Full pups are the best sleepers around. As strange as it seems, “Hermione” was whining because she was hungry. Her little brain could not comprehend that food would make the hunger go away. Those two bites didn’t do it, so what would?
Many times, it doesn’t occur to our little ones that eating more will fill them up. Hunger and eating just don’t go together for them.
The next week, when my receptionist brought the pup back in, no one even recognized “Hermione.” The strange wobbling was gone. She could walk a straight line and would actually eat when food was put down!
“Hermione” is now a perfectly normal puppy. She just didn’t have any survival instincts. Which, in the world of “Littleness,” is pretty darn common.
Tales from the Tea Cup:
“Titan” and “Frannie” – The Oddest of Odd Couples
Now, on very special occasions, the situation is reversed, where little dogs get big dogs to eat. But to truly tell “Frannie’s” “Littleness” story, I must tell a quick tale of “Bigness.”
“Titan” was truly a god among dogs, but he certainly wasn’t bred for it. He was some kind of German shepherd, Labrador, and Poodle cross. While somewhat handsome, no one could know that a hero’s heart resided in such a m
utt’s chest.
“Titan” wasn’t even a year old when he went out on a boating trip with his family. “Titan’s” “brother” (his owners’ three-year-old son) got away from his parents. “Titan” grabbed the toddler by his life vest to keep him from going overboard.
But that didn’t work. Somehow, the child had untied the vest (yes, it was that long ago—before childproof buckles). It slipped right off, and the boy fell into the ocean.
Without hesitation, the dog plunged in after the child. But, of course, the boy was panicking, thrashing in the water, and the boat had sped away far enough so that there was no way his parents could get back to him in time.
As the boat was circling back, the mom kept her head and shouted out, “Ride ‘Titan,’ baby! Ride ‘Titan’!”
Those words broke through the boy’s panic, and he grabbed hold of “Titan’s” neck and pulled himself onto the dog’s back, and “rode” “Titan”—just like he did every day.
Quite casually, “Titan” swam up to the boat, but once safely aboard, they realized that “Titan” was limping. As he had jumped overboard, he must have hit the metal railing, because he had broken his foot!
“Titan” did all that with a broken foot! And without complaint.
Now, that would have been enough for most heroic dogs, but after “Titan” got out of his cast, he became a search and rescue dog, finding dozens of disaster survivors. Blizzards, fires, earthquakes, or avalanches, “Titan” was there.
But life had another challenge in store for “Titan”…cancer. I won’t go into details, but “Titan” went through over a dozen surgeries and multiple rounds of chemo battling his cancer. His parents and I talked frequently about how far is too far, and how much further “Titan” wanted to go. But his owners couldn’t give up. They owed their son’s life to him. They had to try.
We also talked about getting another dog, but the one thing “Titan” wasn’t was dog friendly. For all his greatness, he was not all that fond of his fellow canines.
Then the joyous day came, and “Titan” was declared cancer free. But it turned out to be bittersweet, because he stopped eating. He didn’t eat for weeks. He was hand-fed, and then force-fed, and then we considered a feeding tube. It was so hard to give up on “Titan.” Unfortunately, after finally beating the cancer, he seemed ready to succumb to anorexia.
Finally, their son, now a teenager, couldn’t take “Titan’s” quiet misery and his parents’ grieving any longer. He brought them “Frannie-bo-bannie,” a little, two-pound Pomeranian puppy.
Before they could say anything, “Frannie” ran straight up to “Titan” and kissed him. He growled, so she kissed faster.
Now you might think that this story would end with “Titan” and “Frannie” being best friends, cuddling together, with “Titan” bravely guarding his little sister, but their story is a far greater testament to “Littleness” than that.
“Titan” didn’t like her. Not one bit. This worked out perfectly, because the second thing “Frannie” did was run over and try to eat his food. “Titan,” being “Titan,” couldn’t let that stand, so he rushed over and growled her off.
But, “Frannie” being “Frannie,” she danced and played, stealing bites in between growls. “Titan” became so outraged that he began eating his food, slowly at first, and then with more and more eagerness.
They even taught “Frannie” the command, “Go bug your brother” or “Get ‘Titan’ to eat.” It worked every time, and “Titan” began to gain back the weight he had lost.
“Titan” and “Frannie” even worked out a system. Each time “Titan” was hungry—but didn’t want to admit that he was hungry—he would go over to his food bowl and growl. Sure enough, on cue, “Frannie” would run over and start the “Just try and stop me from stealing your food” dance.
She did all this because “Frannie” worshipped “Titan.” Everything he did was fascinating. Every move he made, she had to be a part of. “Frannie” would sit there for hours, licking “Titan” as he growled and grumbled (but of course, he would turn his head so she could lick the other side of his face).
Their parents swear that she sits there and listens as “Titan” tells her the stories of his grand exploits, since her size doesn’t really allow her to travel the Sierras in a snowstorm. They are perfect buddies for one another.
That doesn’t even take into account the joy and life she brought into their parents’ lives. Just to see their faces light up, as they used to when “Titan” was out saving the world, brings tears to my eyes.
If that isn’t a perfect example of how “Littleness” can come to the rescue, I don’t know what is!
Tales from the Tea Cup:
“Pumpernickel” – Flying High without a Net
Now, goodness knows that our little guys can throw big tantrums around eating … you know…enough calories to stay alive, but another major issue with our Portable Pooches is that they think they are too portable.
Some think that they are mountain goats. And some kind of are. Miniature Pinschers, with their long legs and high center of gravity, can spring nearly three feet straight into the air. Most of the terriers can be quite agile as well.
Shih Tzus? In general, not quite so much. “Pumpernickel” in particular? Not at all!
But you have to love his spunk. From eight weeks of age, he was determined to go as high as he could go. At first, it was just the kids’ chairs, then it was the couch, then it was the dining room chairs, and then the dining room table.
Which, for this family, might not have been a bad thing. The problem was, “Pumpernickel” was always shooting higher and higher. It seemed that his main goal was to make it to the top of the refrigerator, like his kitty brother.
But unlike his feline friend, “Pumpernickel” had zero grace and aspirations far beyond his agility. Want examples?
Once he tried to leap from the bed to the window ledge—and somehow got his neck caught in the wrought iron headboard. He got out of that jam with just a chipped tooth.
Another time, he tried to make it from the baby’s changing table to the crib, and missed by about four feet. That time, it was a broken toe.
His last major “Who needs a net?” moment was when he decided that he would go from the coffee table to the sofa to the bookcase to the television.
The crash woke the whole house. While he only needed a few stitches to his ear, the television was totaled.
Again, he was brought in for a neurological examination. Was he blind? Did he have no depth perception? Was there a tumor putting pressure on the impulse control center of his brain?
Of course, the answer to all three of those questions was “No!” He just had the “Evel Knievel” gene that some little dogs are born with.
So, knowing this was all just “Pumpernickel” being “Pumpernickel,” they erected an elaborate system of doggie gates to keep him out of the dangerous rooms, bolted the new television to the wall, and went “minimalist” with the living room décor, keeping the furniture in a low Japanese style.
It worked great! Except for the fact that “Pumpernickel” became mopey. Actually, well beyond mopey. He became depressed.
A mountain goat taken away from the mountain is a very sad goat.
In another example of how, if you own a pup in a tea cup, you should probably have a handyman on speed dial, I suggested they construct an obstacle course…in their living room.
“Pumpernickel’s” owners laughed (you can see a trend here) until they realized I was oh-so-serious. Luckily, my little ones want nothing more than to sit on my lap. But my cat, Lance Flame the Wonder Cat, thinks he is a panther. And every panther needs his jungle. So in the corner of my living room, I have several cat stands put together, along with some silk “trees” to create a ceiling-high “jungle.”
Being dedicated parents—and just a little bit in love with “Pumpernickel’s” daredevil streak—they did as I suggested. It was a bit of a design challenge to keep the
sleek Asian influence along with safe perches and soft landing pads, but they did it.
And “Pumpernickel” refused to use it. They tried everything. They put him up on the highest ledge. They tried putting treats on the various steps, but he wouldn’t budge.
So they brought him in to me, this time for an orthopedic exam. I diligently checked his joints, but I already knew that he wasn’t sore—he was insulted.
“If you want him to use the course, you have to scold him for getting on it.”
“But we built it for him!”
Pups in Tea Cups: Tales of Littleness Overcoming BIG Odds Page 4