Walk in my shoes, if you can find the wads of leather in Yoda's bed.
|Yes, it's superdog. Strange critter from another abode who came to our household with powers and abilities far beyond those of a mortal puppy.
Superdog, who can change the course of family routines, bend hearts with his bare paws, and who, disguised as Yoda, mild mannered pet for a great metropolitan family, fights a never-ending battle for truth ("Honest, I didn't chew that rug, it was the other mutt"), justice ("No, not my kennel. What'd I do now?"), and the American way ("I'm innocent until proven guilty, or you catch me in the act").
Faster than a speeding greyhound. More powerful than a rottweiler. Able to leap tall furniture in a single bound. Look, on the floor, "It's a piddle, it's a puddle, it's superdog, again!"
Meet my terror, a Jack Russell Terrier, rightly named Yoda for his diminutive stature, presented as a gift from my children (paybacks for curfews, groundings, etc., can be hell). I soon became convinced that despite his "beanie baby" public puppy demeanor and midget stature, somewhere beneath that silken hair is a tattoo of "666".
My little darling immediately put Holly, my first adopted dog, into her place. Holly is a miniature schnauzer who has succumbed to Yoda's tyranny of being first to eat and drink, first out the door for recess (alias potty breaks), riding shotgun, and first under hand for belly rubs. Also, an unwritten law of "my chew bones are mine" and "your chew bones are mine" was soon instated, as Yoda shamelessly sequestered them from Holly's gnawing teeth and buried them in his bed amidst other confiscated trophies, such as peelings of wallpaper, shreds of throw rugs, slivers of kitchen linoleum, ragged Victoria's Secrets, and wads of leather from favorite shoes.
Yoda's theatrical talents rival those of Lassie and Rin Tin Tin when human voices bellow over the latest four-legged catastrophe. He sits in bogus oblivion, as Holly seemingly reads her cue card and hightails it to the nearest closet, tail tucked between hind legs.
Despite the total destruction of house and lives, Yoda has managed to nestle himself into my heart. One fleeting glimpse of his faux, innocent brown eyes, one jab from his wet little nose, one kiss from his slippery little tongue, and all grievances are soon forgiven. Yoda has also become an entrepreneur with his own cache of doggie biscuits ... small price paid by my kids to learn the ropes of Yodaism (or, condensed version of how to wrap mom around your little paws). "Great Caesar's ghost" ... I could be in for more trouble !!