About 16 months ago, I whined, cried, moaned, begged and groveled at the feet of my sweetie, The Yard Sale Queen. You know, generally acting like a man.
She works lots of hours so that the retired me can continue to live in the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed. And for that my Queen, I thank you so much. But I was missing something.
After we had to put our beloved 13-year-old Yorkie named Zoey to sleep in September 2017, I missed the daily companionship a fur buddy offers.
So secretly, I searched the internet for a Yorkie breeder. After several months of searching and phone calls, The Yard Sale Queen and I brought home a 12-week-old, 2-pound bundle of fur and named her Riley.
I knew I was in for a challenge. Yorkies are notoriously difficult to housebreak, according to my veterinarian. You don’t have to tell me. I have washed more throw rugs, shampooed more carpet, wiped more floors and picked up more random “presents” in my lifetime than some housekeepers.
You see, Riley is my sixth Yorkie. I am either a masochist to housebreaking or I simply love the breed unconditionally. Baby gates into carpeted rooms solved part of the problems and being home to mostly ensure she does her business outside has helped immeasurably.
Yorkies are categorized as a toy breed dog. The Yard Sale Queen wanted a small dog. Well, she got what she asked for. Riley, now 17 months old weighs a whopping 4.5 pounds.
Now you would think that a dog that small would be timid. No way!
Riley is wide open. She is afraid of next to nothing. Well, except when she was 12 weeks. My neighbor with the thick German accent came over for a short visit. Her black cat Poki came over as well and planted himself outside the full-glass storm door awaiting his mom’s return. Riley saw the cat and started yipping profusely, attempting to protect her territory from this big black furry “thing” outside. Poki never moved as Riley barked loudly and moved closer to the door. Suddenly, Poki moved slightly and Riley retreated 6 feet from the door. The tone of her bark changed to a shrill yip. It was hilarious.
She barks at moving blades of grass and pedestrians on the sidewalk. She is a real and noisy protector.
But seriously, Riley is a joy. She graduated from puppy kindergarten and still sits on command – for a treat of course.
She loves when The Yard Sale Queen gets crushed ice from the fridge, with pieces falling the floor. Riley is like a vacuum cleaner sucking up errant ice.
Riley loves to play fetch. She has a number of toys but loves the furry squirrel with two squeakers. Thanks goodness she hasn’t figured out how to make it squeak. She also plays with and shakes a pink lamb. She proudly parades around the house with a rather large pink bunny in her mouth as if it were some sort of trophy.
She will grab a toy and dare us chase her, as she darts under tables and down halls.
At times, Riley will come nudge my hand with her nose, not to be petted, but to “hand fight.”
She loves hand fighting. I can tap her on the nose and she will gently nibble at my fingers or hand. She rarely has broken the skin. She can do this for an extended period of time. I have to stop it.
If she bites too hard, I will say ouch or yow, she will stop, cock her head and look at me quizzically as if to say, “I’m sorry.”
She hates going out in the rain but loves snow. Go figure.
When she goes to bed, she has to be pressed against your chest.
She naps on my lap during the day.
But most of all, she provides companionship, unconditional love and kisses anytime we want them.
We made a good choice. We think Riley did too.