Of Cockapoos and cars

When I was young, I desperately wanted a Peugeot sports car. I kept talking and talking about it until finally my dear friend said, “You don’t even know what a Peugeot is. You just like the name. “   She was right, and I thought of her when I acquired two cockapoos, for much the same reason. How could you not want something called a cockapoo? Every time I say the word, I laugh. My phone keeps auto-correcting it to cockatoo, which I don’t think is nearly as funny. So I have two of these silly dogs. The oldest, Buster, is very nervous. He’s a very gentle soul, but watchful. He keeps his head still and his eyes just follow me wherever I go. He’s also very flexible, and when he’s tired, he stands like a tripod and slowly sinks to the ground. He also tends to tilt. He always makes think he looks like he’s on the Titanic, sinking. He’s the sort of dog who’s perfect with kids. You can do anything to him, and my son has, and he doesn’t get upset. He just looks forlorn, as though in a perfect world, such things would not happen. My younger dog, Bailey, is much more high maintenance.  When we went to pick her up at the breeder, my daughter said, “Give us your most lively one.” That dog never sits still. She’s always twitching about, scratching and licking. She’s probably not the most attractive dog. Her face always makes me think of a revolver, and yet she has very high self-esteem. She’s also devoted to me, and follows me around no matter where I go. My two little friends keep me company when I write, which can be a lonely occupation. They are also great to practice dialogue on. Mainly they are my cheering squad. Whatever I do, they think it’s fabulous.

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