FEBRUARY 2016 - Six years ago Kiki entered our lives. Tiny, black and tan, we rescued her from a shelter in Fort Payne, Alabama.
Intended as a Christmas gift for my baby girl, Kiki, who appears to be a full-blooded Chihuahua, quickly became a family pet. She was Autumn’s pick, from an on-line lineup of dogs available for adoption, and it seemed immediately that Kiki’s entry into our family was serendipity. What struck me first is that she is almost identical to Lady, the feisty protector who sat on my granddaddy’s shoulders daring us grand kids to come near. You best not try without his verbal permission or Lady would take finger off faster than a Secret Service agent could jump to the defense of the President. Lady may have been little, but her courage and dedicated defense of my granddaddy was as big as Texas.
Ivy joined our family a little less than a year ago. Also a Chihuahua, Ivy is white and tan, and the two are as different as their coats, but don’t judge them by their covers. If our life was a John Wayne movie and their coats were indicators of good and bad as they were in the classic Westerns my daddy loved, our little corner of Dodge City would be a place of opposites.
Ivy, radiantly clothed in white, is no angel. She’s mischievous and sneaky and a fighter. Kiki, her black-as-night coat ever shining, is gentle and loving and well-behaved. Kiki will sit on command, especially if you have a treat in your hand. Not Ivy. Despite attempts to train her otherwise, if she sees your hand with a treat in it, it’s in your best interest to drop it fast.
Just this morning I watched the two of them romp through the house. Ivy, always the antagonist, nips at Kiki’s leg or collar, hoping for a chase. Sometimes Kiki complies. Sometimes not. It is clearly Kiki’s choice.
After a couple of trips through the living room and breakfast area, Kiki decided it was no longer play time. She went to her fleece-covered bed and curled up like a fawn. Ivy soon followed and stood over Kiki. Kiki’s head beneath Ivy’s belly. Kiki didn’t care.
When she got no reaction, Ivy moved to the taunting stage. She retrieved a rope toy and brought it to the bed. Holding it in her mouth, she shook it vigorously.
“Look at me! I’ve got a toy! See my toy!” Kiki cut her eyes over at her, then closed them.
Later Kiki stood to get food and to check out the house, one last security walk before my bride and I left for work. Ivy followed, then stood on her back legs, placing her front paws on Kiki’s back.
“I AM ALPHA!” Ivy indicated.
“I am dominating you,” Ivy appeared to communicate.
“I am in control,” said the white Chihuahua.
Only she wasn’t.
Wow. That was kind of eureka moment.
Go ahead, bite at me. If I don’t take your bait, you have accomplished nothing.
Go ahead flaunt your toys in front of me. They don’t interest me, and you just look silly.
Go ahead, assert yourself. If I don’t react, you have no power.
Thucydides, the ancient Greek historian, philosopher and general, said, Of all manifestations of power, restraint impresses men most.
That is Kiki, and that is a lesson I have learned from her.
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