Veruca is in Doggy Heaven.

Veruca

Age 16, January 05, 1994 - July 18, 2010

After we moved into our new house in April of 2006, my husband did something sneaky. We had discussed getting another dog--our last, a Basset Hound, had been euthanized for advanced cancer--but had agreed to wait for a while. Our commute would be a lot longer from the new house, and we thought we couldn't give a dog enough time during the work week.

I was upstairs one day, about a month after we moved in, brushing my teeth when I heard his car in the driveway. Moments later I heard jingling and clicking. He appeared outside the bathroom, holding a leash. At the bottom of the leash was a tiny, saucy dog who examined me with as much suspicion as I examined her. "What is it?" I asked, perplexed. "A Chihuahua," he said with a grin. "Whose is it?" "Ours."

He had visited the humane society, looking for something small, maybe a Dachshund. The girls at the humane society showed him a few dogs, and when he didn't see a breed that suited him, said rather reluctantly that they did have a Chihuahua in the back--did he want to see her? She wasn't very friendly, apparently, and was twelve years old. She had been born with a slight deformity to one of her back legs, nothing serious but the leg curved slightly and she favored it when she walked.

They brought her out like Hannibal Lecter, the staff keeping their distance. He walked her a little out in the yard, and within a few minutes she put her front paws on his leg. He picked her up, and they walked around some more. It started to rain, so he took her back inside, still holding her in his arms. The staff stared in astonishment. She had been a nasty piece of work, snarling and biting so much that they had to keep her out of the dog room. "Do you want her?" one of the staff asked eagerly.

It took a week for she and I to reach an understanding. She bonded with my husband right away, and howled with joy as they sped home in his Mustang. She loved the car, and was always thrilled by the rev of the engine. I had never owned a small dog, and her feisty, self-preserving attitude took me by surprise. And then it clicked. I got her, and she got me. After we got each other, she never left my side.

We named her Veruca, after Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka, because she knew what she wanted and demanded it--anyone with a Chihuahua will know what I mean. Veruca had sass, spirit, and determination. As tiny as she was, she stood toe-to-toe with our Rottweiler, who joined us two years later. We give the Rottweiler beef bones from the meat section, big, heavy bones that are seven or eight inches long. One night, after the Rottie was in his crate for the night, Veruca gripped one of his bones in her few remaining teeth and carried it up the stairs. The bone was almost as big as she was. Oh, to have that on video.

She was with us for just over four years. Over time she lost most of her teeth, and her eyesight went as well. For the last year she convalesced in the relative safety of our bedroom, because she could no longer navigate the stairs and furniture.

A small dog has never left a bigger hole.