Margo, The Impossible Westie

• Margo on her 2nd day in our house Margo on her 2nd day in our house
• Margo sniffing crap Margo sniffing crap
• Margo contemplates sheep Margo contemplates sheep
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I had wanted a Shih Tzu but settled for Margo as my husband loves Westies. Looking at her asleep beside me as I clickety-clack away on the typewriter, I feel privileged to have her. She snores, kicks in her sleep, and growls when I make her move from her favourite spots on my bed and sofa but it’s precisely those strong independent traits of hers that I love. Right now she looks a sight but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s the most adorable thing on earth besides the dogs we’d had over the years.

Her owners gave her up after eight years. Apparently she was lunging at the new baby. Well, anything that’s been allowed to rule the roost that long wouldn’t want to share the attention it’s had all to itself. And Margo’s been spoilt to the last drop of her Prussian blue rebel blood. Sometimes I wonder if people stop to think about what having a pet means before they actually get one. Anyways, I’ll stop before I start sermonising.

It’s been cold the past few days although we’ve had fantastic bursts of sunshine. Margo has settled in more or less. She’s beginning to understand that she is loved and her place in this house is permanent. Two days ago, when I turned my back she put her wayward snout into one of the boxes and dretched up two identical Halloween pop-up toys that laughed maniacally when their mechanisms were triggered. She’s been fixated on them ever since – it’s a love-hate relationship. One of them’s mangled and the other’s not far from the same dire fate. I’ve found ways to distract her so I can hide the toys.

She sleeps on my bed at night, this horrendously bad sleeper. She kicks hard when she stretches, snores all through the night, and shuffs her rear into my face when she does that doggy-circling thingyi. She bites shower heads so we have to put her in a filled bath tub to clean her. There’s nothing easy about Margo but she’s absolutely the dearest little thing on four legs.

Her ears and eyes are doing this funny quivering thing. I don’t know if doggies have REMs but I think she’s dreaming now. That was a kick she just delivered to my back. This roly-poly fluff still won’t let me carry her. There are moments I just want to pick her up especially when she takes forever to move from a ‘hot’ spot. That was another kick. She read my mind – must be psychic. That’s good cos I’m psycho. We make a good pair.

I’m having trouble with the name Margo. It’s just not a doggy name. I should like to change her name to Dumpling. I don’t think she’ll mind as it’s just a matter of getting her used to it. Maybe I’ll wean her off Margo by starting with Margo Dumpling, then shorten it to Go Dumpling and finally just leave it at Dumpling. Dad suggested Mango simply because it’s closer to Margo. Either name reflects another one of our favourite hobbies – cooking, eating, and anything to do with food. Mind you, we’re not dog-eaters. No way, Jose. Those nasty two-legged creeps are karmically doomed to live out eternity tied by their toes to a rotating fan.