Hi, I am Vixen. I came home on June 1, 2020, a two-and-a-half-pound puff with a busy little heart. I am a Havapom, half Havanese and half Pomeranian. Most of my cousins look like tiny ewoks, but I look like a fox, which is why my name fits me so well. I liked it the first time I heard it and my tail agreed.
I decided my job was comfort. When Mom has a hard migraine, she lies on her side, and I curl my body around her head. I rest my forehead against her with almost no weight at all. It is my quiet way of saying, I know you hurt, let me help. If she reaches for the camera, I lift my head so she can keep the moment, then I settle back into my post.
I love going to places. As soon as I see my harness, my whole body becomes yes. I do not like being left behind, so if I think the door might close without me, I lie across the threshold and make my case. Most days it works. Travel feels natural to me. In the car I curl into my bed in the back seat and fall asleep before the campground is out of sight. Waking up somewhere new feels like a game I know how to win.
We collect small joys along the way. In Ohio we visited a lake, and I trotted out to Mom in the water and back again on my long leash, splashing like joy had paws. Near our campsite there was a farm stand with vegetables and meat. The children watched for our car and ran to greet me. One day they gave me a bone almost as heavy as I was. I carried it like a champion and set it down with pride. There was also a tiny ice cream shop. I got a pup cup and ate only half. Stopping at enough is one of my secret talents.
New spaces teach me new rules. In Indiana I tried a dog park without a lead for the first time. The gate opened and I stayed close. Freedom is big, so I measured it with small circles near my people. In Delaware I learned the ocean is loud and bossy. I kept the water at a respectful distance and dug a hole so deep I could have fit inside. The sand was soft, and the wind smelled like salt and happy dogs.
Being fluffy means baths. When I was tiny, Mom could wash me in the sink with one hand. Now I stand in the shower and hand over each paw when it is time. I lift a back leg for my belly and accept the towel like a cape. On rainy days I wait as long as I can to go out, and when I come back, I present each paw again for a proper wipe. We practiced ears, paws, and even my tail so nothing surprises me. It makes life easy for all of us.
At home I am a lap warmer and a writing assistant. I fit across one of Mom’s arms and help her remember to breathe in and breathe out while words appear. I do not need to say much. A soft lean, a steady look, and a small sigh are usually enough. That is how we speak to each other.
Every day I learn a new way to care for my people, and they learn a new way to listen. A scratch at the bowl, a look at the door, a quiet sound, a curl against a shoulder. It is simple and it is everything. I am small, but my love is steady, and it travels fast.
Nose boops until next time.