A Tennessee Country Christmas...

It’s almost Christmas; the season for parties and festive decorating ‘round the house and spending time with family and friends. It’s the gift-giving season, too--and I have just received the most amazing gift from some wonderful friends. It arrived at Bangor International Airport on Saturday night--Delta Flight #5603.

Actually, I should say…they arrived.

That’s right. My gift was a matching pair of puppies; a brother and sister. I--a woman who has always had mutts and mongrels and pound puppies (and one really big Newfoundland)--was gifted with—brace yourself!—pure-bred Chihuahuas.

Aaaat! Now, before you react, it’s important to remember that wahwahs are dogs, too! That’s right. It doesn’t matter that Eli’s cat Stevie outweighs these guys by 13 pounds. And the fact that the puppies have to wear weasel collars because cat collars are too big…why, that doesn’t mean they are any less beastly than your average rotti or hound-dog or lab!

This breed has a reputation for being yappy little ankle-biters… but it all comes down to their training and the skill and dedication with which they are raised. I intend to have quiet, calm dogs. These will be country wahwahs, and they will be treated no differently than any other Pease puppies. They will be kind and gentle. Well socialized. They will do their business outside. They won’t chase the deer in our field or piddle in our corn patch. These farm-raised pups might not be suitably sized for herding cattle, but I’m sure they will excel at herding…chickens. Small chickens like…guinea hens. Little itty bitty biddies. Yes, these calm, working farm dogs will be clothed in dignity.

And sweaters.

Oh, my God. What have I done?

It’s been two years since the inhabitants of The F.A.R.M. have had canine companionship. We were ready to share our home with a dog or two and this gift was incredibly generous and well-timed. Yes, there will be challenges. Of course there will be. That’s only natural.

First; it’s apparent we have a slight communication barrier. See, these aren’t your typical Spanish-speaking Chihuahuas from south of the border. It’s worse. These dogs are from Tennessee. If you’ve never heard a Tennessee accent, you don’t know what you’re missing. In fact, no one knows what they’re missing, because it’s almost impossible to understand a single thing uttered by a Tennessean. These dogs don’t bark. They don’t even yap. They “yay-up”.

“Yay-up, yay-up, yay-up!” What the heck does that mean?

Does it mean “I wanna go ay-out!”? “Ah miss ma maw-ma!”? “May-un, y’all have some honkin’ big cay-uts!”?

What???

Second, of course, is the issue of size. Wahwahs are easily misplaced. It’s crucial to develop the habit of emptying all pockets before throwing clothing into the wash. It’s vital to gently shake out shoes before shoving feet inside. These dogs can turn up in the most unlikely places.

The truth is that they have no concept of mass, bulk or dimension. To their way of thinking, they are leviathans. Powerful entities destined to rule the world… or at least—The F.A.R.M.  No matter the size of the being coming through our front door—these babies think they are bigger and badder. (Yes, badder. Don’t look it up in your dictionary—you won’t find it. It’s a Tennessee word--pronounced “BAY-uh-der”. Being a quick study when it comes to southern drawl, I’ve determined that it means “worse”.) What’s funny is that my two-pound puppies are able to convince all other creatures that they really ARE bigger and badder. More bad.

Worse.

Before we know it we’ll have it all figured out, and we’ll wonder how we ever got along without our wahwahs. For sure, it will be wonderful to have little ones around the Christmas tree again. With my youngest child now a doddering 15 years old, some of the sparkle and magic seemed to be missing during the last couple of holiday seasons. But not this year! We’re all delighted to have these wee ones in our family.

These Pease Wees.

From the multi-lingual crew at The F.A.R.M. (where there’s Fresh Air and Room to Move) to all of you: MAY-uh-ree CREE-us-mus! Feliz Navidad! And Happy Hanukah, too.

Scrappy butchers her 1st pig at The FARM

****************************
P.S.  I should add in this disclaimer.  My friend has informed me (in somewhat haughty fashion) that the wahwahs fit into FERRET collars--not WEASEL collars.  My mistake.  Hehehe....I just like to yank his chain...

P.P.S.  Our puppies' names have not been determined, yet.  If you have ideas and would like to share-- please do.  We've had the babes for 48 hours and the monikers we've tried thus far don't please everyone in the house.  Current discards include Chalupah and Burrito, Kelly and Boog, Sweetie and Snappy, Butch and Brutus.  Today, the little girl has been called Scruffy and Scrappy, and the little boy has been Saint and Baxter.  To be determined....