Pure Joy (5 page)

Ruby, one of my Brussels griffs
Cassio Alves

So I began preparing for Minnie’s arrival. I felt considerable remorse toward my other dogs. Every time I left Gracie to go to Paris, she always looked so sad when she saw my valises come out, although I leave her with good people at my home to care for her. But I felt guilty not being able to take her or my other griffs with me. Try explaining to a faithful dog that she is three pounds over the weight limit for Air France! And introducing Minnie seemed like bringing a new baby home. She was going to be an interloper, an intruder, and being so young and tiny, she was going to get all the attention for a while. Ugh. I felt like a beast. Worse yet, this wasn’t an ordinary-size puppy I could introduce to my other dogs. True confessions: I have four miniature Brussels griffs. Gracie is very much a lady, gentle to the core, and I knew she would cause no harm even to a one-pound puppy. One pound? I have shoes that are bigger and weigh more than that. A Big Mac is bigger than that. Which is also why I had never wanted such a tiny dog. I literally had nightmares, imagining her slipping into some tiny space on the airplane when we traveled, or getting stuck under my bed at home. She was soooo small!!!

And while I trusted Gracie with her, I didn’t trust my other
dogs. Ruby, the youngest, is bigger than Gracie and exuberant, and loves to swat things. One fast-moving paw, even in play, could have broken Minnie’s back. It was definitely more like having a mouse than a dog! And my two other griffs, Meg and Hope, were older and crankier and were not likely to take kindly to her, and I was not willing to take that risk. So Minnie would have to be separate from the other dogs, which took some planning and organizing as to who would be where when. Minnie had to be protected from the other dogs.

I was also worried about people stepping on her, and the solution I came up with was a baby playpen to keep her in, to keep her safe. Now she is full grown at two pounds, and she runs around freely, but whenever I want to keep her safe if there are too many people around (like a Sunday-night casual dinner party in my Paris kitchen), I put her in the playpen, and she’s happy there. The vet had also warned me that I couldn’t sleep with her—I could roll over on her and kill her, or she could fall off the bed—so I still put her in the playpen to sleep at night. It is a perfect place to keep her safe. I cuddle with her before I go to sleep, but then I place her in her bed in the playpen. I wish I could put her in bed with me, she’s so cozy, but I just can’t. (Gracie spends the night on my bed, and sometimes Ruby too, hopping on and off occasionally.) A dog as tiny as Minnie is a big responsibility.

Hope, one of my current Brussels griffs
Cassio Alves

Meg, also one of my current Brussels griffs
Cassio Alves

I got the puppy food she needed, the bowls I’d picked out in New York arrived, the igloo beds, and Wee-Wee Pads to train her where to go (she learned on the first day and makes no mistakes). I had collars and leashes, and a few toys. I bought all kinds of squeaky toys, tiny sweaters, little pink blankets (okay, I’ll confess: a tiny wool hat with holes for her ears, which she hates and won’t wear), and I got ready to spoil her totally. So sue me, I was excited that she was coming home. There are worse indulgences than spoiling a dog. It’s not a crime, and I had so much fun getting ready for her.

As promised, my daughter Victoria took her home in New York, a week before they came home for Thanksgiving, so Minnie got a taste of being loved and spoiled before she got to me. And Victoria also has a Chihuahua, Tallulah, who I don’t think was too pleased by Minnie’s visit.

And then the big day arrived, the day before Thanksgiving, my kids came home and two of my daughters flew home with Minnie. They said she had slept the whole way on the trip. We took her out of her carrying bag and introduced her to her new world, my bedroom, the playpen, and at first the only place she was happy was the playpen. She was terrified when I put her on my bedroom carpet, and she only ventured a few inches from the playpen and was happy whenever we put her back into her safe, contained little world. Everything must
have looked huge to her. Now she runs around my room, my office, the Paris apartment, and everywhere else like a maniac. Now this is her domain. But at first she was scared to death, and it took her some days to adjust to it.

She went to the vet to get checked out and was fine. We got travel papers for her, and everyone who saw her was amazed by how tiny she was. And I hated it when anyone picked her up—I was afraid they’d drop her or she’d get hurt, she was just so small. (I stepped on her paw once myself and panicked over it, but she was fine.) She was definitely a happy addition to our world. And she was an incredible gift for me, someone to fuss over, take care of, and nurture, after so many years of so many kids and dogs.

With a sigh of happiness, I settled into caring for her. And when the kids left on the Sunday night after Thanksgiving, it was a little less agonizing than usual. I had Minnie, and we were leaving for New York and Paris the next day. I packed more stuff than for a baby, for our two days in New York, and for her new life in Paris. Minnie had no idea what was in store for her, the day I put her in her black sweater and collar, and placed her gently in her carrying bag. Minnie was about to become a world traveler! And I felt like I was carrying precious cargo as I picked up her bag. And for once, other than worrying about if I had a book I liked or if I had enough work
in my briefcase to keep me busy, or if the movies on the plane would be decent, I had Minnie to think about instead of myself. It was exactly what I had wanted when I set out to find her. And as we left on a red-eye flight that night, it felt like she had always been part of my life.

Minnie in her travel bag
Alessandro Calderano

In order to travel domestically and internationally with a dog, you have to have health papers showing her vaccinations and ID papers. She has to be under the weight limit (twenty pounds domestically and twelve pounds internationally) and be confined in a carrier to go in the cabin with you. You have to purchase a dog ticket for her, $125 domestically and $200 internationally. A dog over the weight limit can go in the cargo section in a crate, but there are risks involved, and some dogs don’t survive the trip. It’s too hot or too cold, depending on the time of year, or they’re just too traumatized by the experience. I have never been willing to take the risk of putting an animal in cargo. And of course we went through all the requirements of taking her in the cabin, since she is only two pounds.

She had to be in a dog carrier for the flight. And you are not allowed to take the dog out of his or her travel bag. There are a huge variety of carriers in a multitude of shapes, styles, and sizes, depending on the size of the dog and the taste of the owner. Like all hand luggage, there are limits to how big it can be, just like the weight of the dog, but as long as the bag meets the cabin requirements, after that it’s a free-for-all. You can get carriers in every color, everything from camouflage to plaid to pink with rhinestones on it. The most important feature to me was that Minnie could see out of the bag. The dog carriers I had had in the distant past had netting on all four sides, so the dog could look around freely. I went shopping for something a little more fun and stylish and better suited to Minnie and her new wardrobe (the old bag I had was a fairly ugly black nylon), only to discover that netting on all four sides had gone out of style, I’m not sure why. I found only one with netting she could see through on three sides, and most of them had netting only on either end, like little windows, which seemed very dark and confining to me. Given the long hours she was going to spend in the bag, I didn’t want her to feel like she was in a shoe box. The bags I looked at seemed seriously claustrophobic to me.

I even went to two famous French handbag and luggage shops, who were proud of their dog carriers, and although
they were very stylish, in some really jazzy colors (orange, red, royal blue), they were narrow, with a tiny little window at each end, and I decided you really had to hate your dog and be seriously narcissistic to choose fashion over the comfort of the dog and show off with one of those fancy bags. I wound up traveling with our old bag, with four sides she could see out of (and I could see her) and a convenient pocket to put her supplies in, and I have continued to use it. It is definitely not chic, but she seems happy in it, and she can check out what’s going on around her. I suppose one theory is that maybe a dog would feel cozy in a small dark bag, but those bags sure didn’t appeal to me. Mine has zippers at both ends and another one on top, and it’s roomy enough for her. I like it a whole lot better than any new bag I saw—especially the fancy ones, which cost a fortune and also weigh a ton. My old one is much lighter. And I think it’s worth looking around for a bag your dog will be happy in, not just one you think looks stylish. You can find relatively new carriers at secondhand stores. I recently gave away the ones I don’t use, and others do the same. And the old ones might suit you and your dog a lot better.

As soon as we got to the airport, someone from the airline (who has to see the dog—they think maybe I’m carrying a skunk instead of a dog?) asked if she was a service dog. I was
stumped by the question. I’ve never heard of a one-pound Chihuahua being used as a seeing-eye dog. And the only other kind of service dog I know about is for epileptics. Apparently dogs can be trained to sense signs of a seizure before the person with the seizure is aware of it, and can warn them, which is very impressive. But other than that, I knew of no service dogs. And I looked blank when the woman from the airline asked the question. Service dog? (I actually used that in a book, when a man with one arm was taking Stanley, his huge bloodhound, on the flight with him, and when questioned, he ironically said the dog cuts his meat, and they let him fly in the cabin.) I could think of no way for Minnie to be a service dog, and I asked the woman to explain what she meant, which she did, much to my amazement.