Pip

Pip the dog has two speeds: Supersonic and asleep. Right now, she’s asleep. Her little brown body is curled up in a tight ball, keeping the night’s demons safely at bay.

Pip is a peculiar little dog, much like her mother Twinkie. The wife of the breeder warned us about Twinkie.  Apparently Pip’s mom has a mind of her own and can be a bit, let me say this delicately, bratty. Well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Twinkie’s clone chews up books, shoes, attacks my boys’ legs and the vacuum cleaner. She barks at brooms, squirrels and cars. (Her bark will make your ears bleed.)  She thinks she is a hat when she sits on my son’s head.Her coat is soft and oily, not wiry like most Border Terriers.  And like her mother, she likes to climb into the dishwasher to try to lick the plates.

Pip is our third Border Terrier.  She’s definitely the most unique.

She’ll be nine-months old tomorrow.  And for the past nine months she has done an admirable job healing the gaping wound left by our losses of Molly and Banjo. Pip was born almost to the minute that Banjo died.  As they crossed paths on the Rainbow Bridge, some of the old lug ended up in Pip. She hates the dogs next door and patrols the yard in the same way. But she’s also very much her own dog. She can be a bit aloof at times. Banjo wanted always be next to you. Pip will lay down across the room. Yet, she snuggles next to me when I sleep.  She knows when be affectionate. She’ll give you all her heart — but only on her terms.

I find her loving, playful and interesting. She’s a good listener and loves to play.

You really can’t ask much more from a dog.