Our most profound joy is often experienced during ordinary moments. What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year? (Author: Brené Brown)
I don't have children in my life (yet), but I think being able to care for something smaller than you can offer a huge sense of joy day-to-day. I bought a tiny dog from a pet store a little over four years ago (soooo naive, I am aware), but I had no idea how much happiness and laughter that little pile of fluff would bring to my life. Our Tucker Bear, that silly little eight-pound pooper, is a constant source of entertainment and joy.
He has turned me, and my whole family, into crazy dog people (he inspired both my parents and my sister to adopt rescues, so the Universe evened out in that sense, right?) I love his quirks and mannerisms and habits. And dammit, he is so freaking cute. He is the cutest dog in the world, don't even try to argue. I am totally head over heels for this little dog.
He sleeps in our laundry baskets, on top of packed clothes, and on any other soft surface on which he can gain purchase (except, of course, for the dog bed we bought him).
He takes over more than his share of the bed, and kicks Mr LikesIt in the ribs.
He will make sure you're watching him when he poos outside. He likes witnesses to good deeds.
He makes yip-yip-yip noises when he dreams.
He guards the house fiercely against UPS drivers, Christmas decorations across the street, and passers-by.
He lets me dress him in holiday-themed attire, and pretends to enjoy it.
He has learned to tell time and knows when to demand his evening rawhide.
He eats the chewy bits out of his ProPlan Shreds like a kid eating the marshmallows out of his Lucky Charms.
He comes back to bed in the mornings after Mr LikesIt lets him out for snuggle time with me.
He loves nothing more than to have his tummy scratched. If you sing, "I'm gonna get your tummy" to him, he will flop over instantly. Tummy-getting is his bliss.
He rarely wags his nubbin tail, but will do so feverishly and with reckless abandon when his people come home from work. We call it "prepping for take-off."
He tucks his nubbin tail under for a turbo boost when you chase him around the house. It's the Tuck-and-Run, his signature move.
He stands on the deck after going potty, just on the other side of the door, holding out for the best treat you have to offer.
His greatest nemesis is the doorbell, including ones on TV. Dominoes commercials disturb him especially. If you turn to him in a silent room and ask "Who's here, Tucker?!" with enough enthusiasm, he will go look.
He has left nose prints on all the lower windows of our front rooms. See that little face in the window? He is always watching.
He stops squeaking if you make cow noises at him.
He presses his face against the door when he wants to go outside, just quivering. And if the screen door is closed, he faceplants into it trying to run out before you can get it open, every. single. time.
He once treed a possum, cleared a flock of sparrows, and scared three deer out of the back yard, yet he has no interest in chasing bunnies or other more permanent residents of our yard. Watching him outside is usually like a scene from a Disney movie:
"Hiiiiiiii, woodland creatures!" "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii, Tucker Bear!"
He frolics, no exaggeration.
He went through an adventuresome phase when I would come home to find him stranded on top of the dining room table, or stuck inside the kitchen trash can, or lounging in a pile of paper towels he shredded from the roll. To this day I have no idea how, other than he spent days plotting these little field trips.
He has laid claim to any and all blankets and throws in the house. We borrow from him.
He wants what you're having.
He hated all of my exes, but he has always loved Kenny. It was a sign, seriously.
He cracks out for baby carrots.
He's made friends with the neighbor dogs.
He gets adventuresome in our over-sized yard, wandering all the way to the bottom of our steep hill to investigate and mark. And when he sees you standing at the top, he will run so hard to get to you that he barfs on the deck stairs.
He loves marking our mailbox area with a fiery passion. No dog will lay claim to HIS day lilies.
He only knows "sit," but one paw always comes up automatically from years of trying to learn "shake."
He puts the "terror" in terrier.
He got out of the yard once (nearly killing me), and spent his short bid for freedom being nosy in the neighbor's garage, and came home at the first mention of treats.
He loves games of tug-o-ware and fetch, particularly with toys he knows by name: Beaverton, Pink Dog (aka his Girlfriend), and Captain Quackers.
He hides under the guest bed whenever we have overnight company. He likes new people and the idea of camping.
He hates pugs. I think he's a little bit racist. They make him Hulk out.
He holds grudges (particularly after baths, nail trimmings, and administering meds) and proves his point by cuddling up with Mr LikesIt and staring at me until I notice I'm in trouble. Those eyes? Those are smug, look-at-how-much-I-am-not-sitting-with-YOU eyes.
He is an eight-pound space heater. He's great company on cold nights or if you are feeling sick.
He is prone to static, and spends most of the winter months doing an excellent Albert Einstein impression.
He gets shaved twice a year when he drops a coat. He looks like a completely different dog, and is actually dove grey underneath all that black and gold. We keep his legs long on purpose - he's got boots with da fur.
He turns on major dramatics at the mere mention of a bath or a haircut, with epic shivers before he even goes near the water.
He canoodles on the couch with Kenny every night. They luff each other.
He spends 20 minutes finding hiding spots for new bones, and they usually end up either in plain sight or in the laundry basket.
He runs around the house as though he has the Indiana Jones theme song playing in his head at all times.
He willingly played along with a Mizzou-themed photo shoot so he could be our wedding mascot, with pictures of him on every reception table.
He likes to sit on the stairs in the front hall because it gives him a better vantage point to look out.
He wants to be let outside just so he can sit in the sun. I am convinced he stores solar power and uses it as his heat source.
He is OBSESSED with Kenny's best friend, Sean. OBSESSED. When he comes over, forget the rest of us, SEAN IS HERE OMG OMG OMG SEEEEAAAAN!!!!1!
He once ate an entire box of dry instant oatmeal packets that I had left sitting out. He smelled like maple and brown sugar for weeks. Neither of us wanted much to do with oatmeal after that.
He will disembowel any toy shaped like a monkey, but he still has the little grey elephant I got him the day he came home with me. He keeps it nice on purpose.
He love love love loves car rides, but be warned, he will barf on you after exactly two hours.
He had to go on a diet last year and lose two whole pounds. That's why we call him Tubber.
He lets me cradle and rock him like a baby, but no one else is allowed such nonsense.
If you leave a glazed or a powdered donut in his reach, he will leave you with a naked donut. Wait a few minutes more, and he will just eat the bottom, leaving the untouched side up to trick you. Leave a box of donuts in his reach, and you will have a dozen halves of donuts left for your brunch guests.
He can spell w-a-l-k.
My Schmuckers, Monkey, Little Bear, Trudge, Fuzz-Butt, Banana Face, Eight Pounds of Fury, Evil Genius, Puffmaster General, Tubber, Fluffernutter, Fuzzypants, Pupper, Schmucks, Fatty Lumpkin, Tucker Bear Beyond Compare ... no matter what we call him, I am grateful to have him. He will be five in the spring, basically middle-aged for a small dog. I can't stand knowing he won't be with us forever. Who knew such a little dog could make two people so happy?
