He is small enough to be set atop a carry-on suitcase…with room to spare.
He doesn’t even have a collar/tags, because he is too much of a wuss to remotely be considered a flight risk.
Although he sees the sidewalk with its easy path to freedom, the thought of jumping from a 2-foot-high perch has him frozen in terror.
He has a secret longing to be carried inside his owner’s oversized purse, where he spent most of his formative years.
The many, the not-so-proud: the Kickdogs of Polanco
My husband long ago added the term “kickdog” to our daily vocabulary to refer to any dog who might be more efficiently moved across a room by kicking it rather than waiting for its 400 mincing steps to get it there on its own. (For the record, I have never seen John kick a dog. A pigeon? Yes. But a dog? No.)
In our fancy-pants neighborhood of Polanco, there is an interesting mix of kickdogs and dogs that could probably bite off your arm in 3 seconds flat. For every overdressed chihuahua, there is its antithesis. Someone like the guard dog a few doors down from us that we have named “Cujo“, whose vicious barking often leads us to believe he may well penetrate the house wall + the iron fence in one fell swoop.
I believe that in neighborhoods like this, heavily armed with watchdog weaponery, the kickdogs have a better sense of their own weakness…their daintiness…their inability to escape the wearing of doggie booties. To that end, I was struck by this image of Mexico’s favorite kickdog, the chihuahua, being embarrassed by its owner outside Eno restaurant in Polanco.
Why is this dog hanging his head in shame?
Perhaps somewhere in the middle of the kickdog<–>guard dog spectrum are the Fountain Dwellers.