Right now Pip is lying against my wife’s legs. She’s smart like that; the dog knows who to suck up to. She is Amy’s dog. Or more accurately, Amy is Pip’s human. I am the person who scratches her stomach and feeds her. My boys’ legs are her chew toys. In an Alpha World, she thinks she is the boss.
It’s hard to believe she is coming up on three — the night she was born was a tough night for us. Pip and Banjo’s souls crossed paths on that fateful July night. He was going and she was coming. I think we thought he’d somehow slip a little bit of his soul into her.
Ha.
She’s too big of a personality to allow that to happen.
She barks at brooms, vacuum cleaners, squirrels and Moe the dog next door. And she barks loudly. You can hear her a neighborhood away.
I love the little brown dog. While Banjo was a muse, Pip likes to amuse. She sits on your head and climbs into the dishwasher. We probably should have called her Sassy. She yaps at us when she begs.
She’s 18 lbs. of attitude.
Jim Harvey allowed her to come into our life. Jim raises champion Border Terriers. Oh, he sent us a champ alright. Pip is a world champion — at least in her head. But don’t tell her anything different. She’d never believe you.
She’s my Pip. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.