A couple weeks ago, Tom and I kept our nephew (of the dog variety), Rascal, at our house for a week. Rascal is my oldest brother, Jonathan, and my sister-in-law, Lisa’s, dog. Mainly Lisa’s dog. Anyway, Jonathan quite aptly summed it up when he referred to Rascal as a powderpuff. The dog’s a sweet, fuzzy, 4.5 pound malti-poo of 3 years of age.
And he’s in love with Sam. Samantha is a sweet, feisty, 21 pound rat terrier mix and is 2 years of age.
And she has a twin brother who is 32 pounds and didn’t approve of this star-crossed romance. Rascal never stood a chance.
First of all, she doesn’t need defending. She and Liam are rough and rowdy wrestlers. They’re both tough, and if he’s got her pinned, it’s only because she’s letting him. (Just look at her teeth. Sam can make some scary faces when she’s roughhousing with her brother.) Rascal was smart enough to not dive completely into the fray, but he didn’t seem to realize Sam is as scrappy as she is, because he bounced around the yard after them, barking his head off.
Secondly, he couldn’t-or wouldn’t-take a hint. Sam was just not interested.
“Sam, let me whisper sweet nothings in your ear.”
“Sam, how ’bout a kiss, you tall drink of water?”
“Forget it, short stuff.”
“Okay, how about I just listen to your heartbeat and pretend it beats for me?”
“I’m gonna puke. Get your nose off my sister.”
Oh well, Rascal. At least you’re super cute. Maybe you’ll have better luck with a girl your own size. And who’s not your cousin. You definitely won the hearts of all the girls in the couples from our small group when they came over to hang out that week. You’ll just have to be satisfied with that.
Ah, young love.