Welcome to Taz-The Chihuhua Chronicles Page
His Mommy and I developed a friendship through his adoption, so Taz and I are both lucky to have found Debby.
This page is dedicated to my friend Debby and her wonderful Chihuhua Taz :)
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Taz, Chihuahua Extraordinaire
July 6, 2011
I have been with my new Mom, Debby, since May 22, 2011 now. I believe all is going well. I love her and, let’s face it, who could not love this adorable, charming Chihuahua??
At our Fourth of July picnic, I got to meet Aunt Dawna’s new rescue, Bazinga, who is a Pomeranian She has such a pretty face and black, silky fur. Wow. She has the perfect name because when I cast my star struck eyes upon her I think BAZINGA!!! Evidently, it is frowned upon when I express my infatuation by peeing everywhere in the house. Hey I thought it was a compliment. Even though I was naughty, I got to eat hamburger; what sublime day that was.
Did you know that for its size, the Chihuahua has a very large brain? It must be true because I am extremely smart. Let me offer an example. I have discovered that I am just the correct height to vigorously scratch my back on the edge of the bed? Not that my human is negligent in that department; she scratches me plenty. But now even if she is asleep I can travel from one end of the bed to the other and scratch to my heart’s content, at least until I hear those familiar words, “Taz, get up here and lie down; go to sleep. Good boy. That’s my angel.”
My sister, Sierra the cat, and I discovered something in the grass the other day. It was making high pitched squeaky sounds and we had no idea what it was, so the ultimate conclusion was that we should stalk it until it revealed itself, then we would decide if it should live or die. Hey survival of the fittest. We took turns pawing at the ground where we could hear, but not quite see it. Mom was concerned about what we were doing so rushed over to pick me up, afraid my little nose might get bitten. Just then a dark, gray critter emerged from the dirt and skittered across the yard and out of the fence. I would have pursued the culprit (how dare it be in my yard?) but there is not much one can do when ensconced in Mom’s arms. Sierra just licked her paw in a bored manner. Perhaps Mom had told her how aggressive moles can be and this was a big one as moles go.
This morning Mom was sitting on the bed and Sierra and I decided to jump up and join her. Unfortunately, we were very close together and made the leap simultaneously, collided in mid air and tumbled back onto the floor. As soon as Mom realized we were okay, she started to laugh. Oh the indignity of it all! What’s a Keystone Cop?
Stay tuned for the next chapter of my saga—KEEPING UP WITH THE KARDOGGIANS.
If I were a dachshund I would say, “So long for now.”
Poodles. Chow.
Taz Busse
TAZ, THE CHIHUAHUA CHRONICLES II
THE BATH OF DREAD—I am often a naughty dog. There, I freely admit it. Sometimes I forget I am housebroken. Once I got up on the kitchen table and helped myself to the delectable leftovers thereon. Occasionally I instigate playtime with my sister, Sierra the cat, at 3:00 a.m. and we tear around the house which wakes up my Mom. Sierra gets relegated to the basement and I have to go back to sleep. I bark nonstop at everyone who enters our abode. Well I do feel that’s my job as protector of Bussendorf Castle in the Realm of Robinson where I live. Just call me Prince Taz. Chihuahuas rule!
But nothing I have every done, or could ever do, warrants the humiliation of having to get a (shudder) BATH. Take away my treats, my toys, anything, but do not put me in the kitchen sink and use the sprayer to soak me to the skin, and then lather me up with the shampoo. It’s torture; it’s degrading! I don’t CARE about being clean.
Mom, can’t you take a hint when you see how this affects your darling little doggie? I implore you for mercy with my sweet, gentle eyes, yet still you proceed. I refuse to sit down and stand on my hind legs while trying to frantically wrap my front legs around you, but it does not deter you. I keen, I wail and cry like a baby. Hearing my pitiful pleas Sierra gets upset too and meows loudly in protest, but you remain undaunted. My only consolation is that you are even more drenched than I am. (Ha Ha) It’s your own fault for em “barking” on this ruthless venture. I will never again curl up on your lap, or let you throw my toys for me. I will ignore you completely, you evil bath giver.
What’s this? Am I done? You’re wrapping me in a big, fluffy towel now and drying me off. Oh, thank the heavens. Put me down, put me down. I have to run like the wind from one end of the house to the other for the next five minutes in a display of sheer and utter joy.
What’s that in your hand? My favorite? Oh I adore Beggin’ Strips. The smell of crispy, fried bacon and cheese is making my mouth water. I’m a sucker for treats, which you well know. You’re just trying to win your way back into my good graces which is not going to work. Oh, who am I kidding? My tail is wagging uncontrollably with happiness so obviously, Mom, all is forgiven. Now give me that delightful bribe.
Taz Busse.
TAZ—THE CHIHUAHUA CHRONICLES III
TAZ—THE CHIHUAHUA CHRONICLES III
TAZ’S SO, SO ESCAPE
Whenever Mom leaves the house, be it for twenty minutes or four hours, when she returns I am in doggie heaven, and can barely contain my excitement at the prospect of our reunion. I fairly fly down the cellar steps and skid to a halt in front of the aluminum door (with two glass windows in it) that separates the basement from the garage. As Mom gets out of the car, I bounce up and down on my hind legs with great enthusiasm. When Mom and her friends see me doing this, they seem to find it hysterically funny. Wish I could do it in slow motion too. That would really give them a laugh. Wonder if she would consider getting me a little trampoline? Then I’d really wow them with moves like the Irish Setter somersault and the Fox Terrier flip. But I digress……..When at last the door is finally open, I change my strategy and bounce off of Mom’s legs instead. She’s not fond of my doing that, so I desist and help take the groceries up the steps. I’m sure there’s something special in those bags for me.
One evening Mom said she was going to go to Arby’s and would be back in twenty minutes. She doesn’t realize that can seem like an eternity to me. But finally there she was. I could hear the clanking of the big electric garage door so prepared for my usual Taz the bouncing ball routine. I cannot say what possessed me, but when I reached the bottom of the steps I hid out in the basement, waiting for an opportunity, though for what I did not know. That was when Mom made a big mistake. The garage door was almost closed, and since she did not see me, she opened the basement door. I came out of nowhere and charged out of the door, through the garage, and under the garage door like a flash! The sensors reacted to my presence and the door started to go back up.
“Taz, STAY!” Mom said sharply. I hesitated and turned to look at her from my position in the driveway. She was opening a plastic container and therein was the beautiful sight and smell of a roast beef sandwich. I was so torn. Before me freedom beckoned; I could run to my heart’s content. There would be new sights and smells and maybe rabbits to chase. Should I answer the call of the wild, or the call of roast beef on a sesame seed bun? Would it be the taste of freedom or the taste of thinly sliced beefalicious Arby's? It was a dilemma, a life changing decision, but it had to be made now. With one last glance towards my lost freedom, I turned and trotted into the garage. Mom started to feed me big hunks of the meat, then picked me up in her arms and held me tightly. “Taz, you are such a good boy, you’re my darling dog. I’m grateful you came back to me.” She seemed so happy.
I’m glad I went back too, for that scrumptious treat, and for my Mom, Debby, and Sierra (my sister cat) whose lives would be oh so drab, dreary and boring without this adorable, little
Taz Busse.
TAZ, THE CHIHUAHUA CHRONICLES IV
To my devoted fans:
My Mom says I have OCD—Overactive Chihuahua Disorder. You can judge for yourself.
Mom, Cat Sierra and I are watching TV; the Animal Planet is on and the sound of dogs barking really draws my attention. I tilt my head quizzically wondering what this is all about. I can hear the dogs, but there is no scent. Still the hounds must be in that box; they can’t fool me, so I start barking back. Sierra leaves the room with an air of disdain and Mom tries to shush me. Why don’t they care? Why can’t they see we have uninvited guests in the house, and I don’t even like the ones who are invited. This is making me very uptight so I start to run just to calm my nerves.
The interior of our house is set up in a circular fashion. I can gallop from the living room, past the bedrooms, then the bathroom and dining room and end up right back in the living room. I feel like a thorobred at the racetrack on Derby Day as I begin to pickup the pace in a maddening, thunderous stampede past Mom over and over again, round and round. My spirit is proud and fierce and I cannot be brought to a halt, at least not until I get a little dizzy. Finally I jump into Mom’s lap and collapse with exhaustion. Sierra joins us by leaping onto the arm of the chair and gives me a look that clearly says, “Get over yourself. What do you think you are, a greyhound?”
In response I grumble something about Chinese food.
I have taught Mom a neat trick, and she doesn’t even know it. Whenever I find something of interest in the house, bottle caps, a paper towel, a sock etc., I pretend it is of great importance to me, something new to chew and I have no desire to part with the valuable object, or so she thinks. Frankly speaking, I couldn’t care less about any of these things. They represent something significantly more desirable—treats. For example, when she removes Sierra’s feathered toy (or any of the items above) from the clutch of my tiny teeth, I feign such disappointment that she replaces it immediately with Milk Bones, Beggin’ Strips or recently cooked chicken. Damn, I’m good.
When she is busy bringing groceries upstairs from the car, I can usually find some pretty interesting stuff in the garage which I hope to be able to exchange for treats. I pranced up the steps with a small, orange box in my teeth, something she called a sample of TIDE powdered detergent. Whatever treat she gave me was going to taste a lot better than this. Even through the box I knew the contents were not to my liking, but I’ll make any sacrifice for the treats I want so badly. I waited with eager anticipation for her to take the box and replace it with tasty morsels. But alas this time I was fooled! She thought I looked so cute holding the dumb container of soap that she encouraged me to keep the foul tasting box in my teeth so she could get out her camera and take pictures! I think I’ll stick with bottle caps, paper towels and socks and refrain from taking things out of the garage. I thought I had her properly trained, but I guess she turned the tide on me.
My favorite toy in the whole world is a brown, stuffed bone. I chew it, I shake it, I let Mom throw it for me. I will not go to bed until I have it with me, so sometimes I jump up with it in my mouth or else Mom has to pick it up and put it on the bed near me, otherwise I will not settle down. This just shows how much she loves me because she says she is not happy about having a dog toy covered with saliva on her bed. If I’m in the living room playing with it and I get tired, I put it down, lie on my side and place my tiny head on it to use as a pillow. You can see it’s quite a versatile, beloved item. But recently I simply could not help myself. I methodically began to unstuff it. It took several days but I rooted every last strand of stuffing out of my much adored brown bone. It is as flat as a pancake. Why, OH WHY, did I do this? I have racked my brain for an answer as to why I destroyed one of the most important things in my life! Oh cruel fate, how can I go on? I guess Mom is right. It must be the OCD—Overactive Chihuahua Disorder. Sigh. It may be devoid of any filling, but I’m going to keep this cherished bone. It still tastes better than the TIDE detergent.
Have a Great Dane, Dear Reader
Taz Busse
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TAZ, THE CHIHUAHUA CHRONICLES V
THE DREAM
When Mom walked into the bedroom the other night, I had a big surprise waiting for her. I had already put everything I needed for bedtime up on the bed. There was the usual brown toy bone (from which I had removed all of the stuffing), the long fox that Mom bought unstuffed (what a gyp; I would have preferred to unstuff it myself.), half a rawhide bone, and two milk bones for my midnight snack. Mom already knew it would be pointless to remove these items because I would make a fuss and not let her sleep until I had my way. She pushed all of my prized possessions to the bottom before she got into bed with a sigh of resignation and we fell into slumber.
Later when she heard me begin to indulge in my crunchy snack it woke her up and she put one of the pillows over her head. As I was finishing the last delicious crumb, it occurred to me something was missing. What could I have forgotten? Oh of course, the little black and white hard ball I had borrowed from my sister cat, Sierra. Okay, I stole it; sue me.
This ball is unique because it has beads in it that make it sound like maracas. I like to prance around with it in my mouth just to hear the pleasing noise. Even though it was the middle of the night I just could not do without it so jumped off the bed and scouted around. It was up on a living room chair mere inches from a sleeping Sierra. When I got up to retrieve it she smacked me with her paw but that was a small price to pay to have my beloved ball.
Returning to the bedroom I could hear Mom’s soft snores. Oh good the pillow was still over her head. She would not hear me. I dropped the ball and curled up beside her back. Soon I became drowsy and drifted into a dream……….
I was part of a Chihuahua Mariachi band! There were four of us. Chico Rawhidios and Pepe Bonezales both played guitars. The female Carlita Pawtiago was doggone good on the mini harp and I played, what else, the maracas which I would shake with perfect rhythm back and forth in my teeth. They made me change my name to Tazalito Chimirez because Taz Busse simply does not cut it as a Spanish sounding name. We all wore brightly colored sombreros and ponchos with holes so that our front legs would fit through. We called ourselves the Mariachi Chihuahuas. I’m a dog. How original do you expect me to be? We toured the country and were a big hit. Our first album, Dogs in a Spanish Band, went to number one on the charts. It was great.
I had a romance with Carlita. It didn’t last long. She was always surrounded by groupies and a handsome Pomeranian caught her eye. Plus the fact that I am neutered didn’t help my cause much. That’s all I remember. Don’t roll your eyes. It was MY dream and I enjoyed it.
By morning I had moved and when Mom rolled over it was onto the hard ball. She let out a surprised yelp. Good thing she couldn't hear me laughing on the inside.
SIERRA’S REVENGE
Sierra and I play constantly. Sometimes she lies on her back and tries to keep me at bay with her paws but I sneak in and bite at her ears. I’m gentle about it or she wouldn’t let me do it. Other times we rear like two battling stallions, then chase each other all over the house. The only time Mom minds the chaos is when she is asleep.
Sometimes I admit I push it too far. Sierra is, after all, 10 years old and gets tired of this three year old pup. One day I was pretty relentless and Sierra had to jump up on a stand in the living room which is too high for me just to get away. Mom was lying down on the bed reading so I leaped up there and curled up beside her to take a nap. I was sleeping very deeply and did not even realize Sierra had joined us. She had laid down right above my head with her backside toward me. Talk about being in for a rude awakening. How to put this delicately dear reader? An obnoxious smell filled the air; I was jarred from my beauty nap. My little head snapped up indignantly and I glared at Sierra. THAT was no accident! I fled to the bottom of the bed in search of fresher air to breathe. Even this wasn’t far enough away so down onto the floor and under the bed I went. Through Mom’s hysterical laughter I heard her say to Sierra, “Well, Kitty, I guess you finally got your revenge”.
FOREVER
For a very long time Mom wanted to rescue a Papillion. It had always been one of her favorite breeds and her dream. That was what she was looking for when she found and adopted me. A couple weeks ago she had the opportunity to get a three year old female Papillion, but two animals to care for at Bussendorf Castle is enough for her. I heard her talking about it. I hung my head in sorrow. Did this mean I would have to go? Mom picked me up and hugged me and reassured me once again that this is my forever home. Besides I kind of look like a Papillion just with smaller ears. She said no other dog could ever replace me in her heart. Sigh. I love my Mom (and Sierra too).
Yours,
Taz Busse
