Little Packages

In addition to blueberry pancakes every morning, rooms so dark you can sleep until two in the afternoon and still think it's only four in the morning, and people that I love more than anything, Home also has a Little.

Little, who I thought should be named Buttercup after the princess in The Princess Bride, is allegedly Betsy's chihuahua, but Little, like all dogs and children before her, intrinsically knows who the real mom is and, therefore, spends most of her time riding on my mom's shoulder, sleeping under her shirt, snuggled under her covers, and biting anyone who dares come too close when she is watching tv with mom. She also can dance on two feet like a ballerina, likes to bring you toys when you come in the door, prefers her food, aka "crunchies," to be laid across the floor in a sweeping motion, and does "the pretty" when she's really interested in pleasing you.

Although she didn't inherit the princess's name, she did come equipped with her tendencies. She likes to get up on the table while we're reading the newspaper. She likes her own bowl of cereal in an appropriately-sized bowl, complete with a splash of milk. She expects a reasonable helping of turkey, especially if it's the kind we have for special occasions, but certainly every couple of days. And whatever you are feeding her, whether it's turkey or chips or crackers or apples, she will turn her nose up at any piece offered to her that is bigger than a thumbnail.


For a six-pound dog, Little has done an admirable job of training us. She is brilliant.