Hi, I am Vixen. I am almost four, small in size, and large in opinions. My days have a rhythm I like. I wake up ready to choose people and keep my little family running on time. Choosing people is one of my talents.
At the flea market I perch in our booth and study the walkway the way birds study wind. When someone who needs a little love starts to pass, I feel it first in my whiskers and then in my chest. I nudge Mom and we invite them closer. Most times they share a soft story about a pet or a person they miss. I lean in and let them borrow my calm. We are not only selling things. We are giving comfort, and that feels like our best work.
Between market days we take short drives, and those are my window shows. I sit on Mom’s lap and watch the world roll by like a movie. Cows and horses are my favorites, so I do not blink when we pass fields. I also ask for my seatbelt, which is really Mom’s arm under my belly wrapped around me. If she forgets, I look at the arm, then at her face, then at the arm again until she remembers. This is our routine, and it keeps me steady.
Back home, I climb to the back of the couch and lean on Mom’s shoulders so I can watch the field in peace. When the cows and horses walk up to the fence, I sing a small whine that means I would like a visit. I also manage the front door. For friends I use a soft sound and quick feet. For strangers I choose a bark and a pause so we can decide together. Keeping watch makes the house feel settled.
Bones are serious work and also a little silly. I like to chew while I balance on the couch, which means sometimes Mom sits down and gets a polite poke from yesterday’s stash. Other times I curl against her shoulder or neck with a chewy and ask her to hold one end for proper leverage. We call this teamwork, and it makes my tail hum.
If a bone tumbles off the couch, I look at Mom and give a small bark. She tells me to go get it. I consider this plan and often agree. Sometimes I ask again because conversation is half the fun. Either way, we end up with the bone back where it belongs and the day continues.
When I need to go outside, I do not scratch the screen. I scratch the fire extinguisher by the door. I invented this system myself and it works beautifully. I also have a treat drawer I am proud of. Our rig came with bowls in a drawer under the fridge, but I was too small for it when I arrived, so my bowls moved to the end of the island and the drawer became the treasure box. I stand there and explain that I have earned something crunchy. Most days I am very persuasive.
Evenings have their own music. If Mom is still working when I am ready for bed, I stand in the bedroom doorway and offer a polite grumble. I look at her, then the bed, then back at her, and grumble again. It usually works. When I was tiny, I slept in a crate so I would keep the house clean and feel safe in my small den. Once I learned the rules, I graduated to the big bed. I start tucked against Mom’s back, and many mornings she wakes up with me on her pillow or in her arms. That is my favorite place to be.
I learned good manners from kind friends. My first dog friend was a very large rottweiler who let me nibble his ear and his tongue and his ankle while he smiled at me. Because of that patience, I listen well and still keep my sparkle. I come when called, sit when asked, and sometimes pee on command. We train with praise instead of treats, which suits me. Love does not run out. I also help with leather. We have leather everywhere, and I know which scraps are mine and which are not. Work is easier when we trust each other.
Playtime belongs to fetch. Small tennis balls fit my mouth just right, and when we finish, the balls go away so I do not peel them. I am proud of my toy words too. If you say get your apple, I bring my little stuffed apple. In my heart I am graceful, though my paws can be clumsy. I have slipped off the steps and landed on Mom’s back. I have rolled head over heels outside, popped up, and kept going with a smile. It is all part of being alive.
People make me happy wherever we go. Kids make me extra happy. If someone forgets I am there, I lean in to remind them. I like to sit on Mom’s shoulder while she writes, which is why she calls me her parrot. I also help during video games by placing my snout in the perfect line of sight, so she remembers to blink and breathe. That is what I call supportive coaching, and it works every time.
It is funny how many ways I can say what I need without many words. I think that is why people smile when they meet me. I am small, but my love is clear, and it travels fast. If you see me at the market, come close. I will share a little calm and you can tell me your story. I have time.
Nose boops until next time.