Tuesday, July 29, 2008

One of the very best things about Pixie...

is that she is very responsive to my ridiculousness. On a very regular occasion I am quite inclined to fall upon the floor bellowing and shrieking and growling and screeching, as loudly and shrilly as I can muster, for her benefit. Her reaction does not disappoint.

"PIIIIIIIIIIIII-CKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" I roar from my deepest depths, prostrate on the floor, flailing my limbs. "Peeky-weeky-piddle-POOOOOOOOOOOO! I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed you! I need my PICKY-WICKY-POOKY-POOOOOOOOOOKINGTON!"

And Pixie will race into the room from wherever she was, yipping and yapping and screeching and bouncing and running and roaring with joy. She will fling herself onto her back, onto her feet, onto her back, over and over and zoom at top speed in circles around me with her butt in the air and wiping first one cheek and then the other on the ground as fast as her teensy legs can carry her. She voices her happiness with loud roaring growly grumbles that sound like she is saying "Aarrr," like a pirate, and rears up on her hind legs, pawing at the air with abandon and then slams her tiny front feet into the floor again and again with glee. Then I shove my face into her body, hooting and howling some more and her whole body shakes with happiness and she licks me maniacally on my ears and eyelids and up my nose and on my chin until we both collapse and I remember to scratch the itchy spots beneath her collar.

I love my doggy.