Rico

RicoPeople want to know if Rico misses Ariela.

If you need to ask, you have no idea about their relationship, which was, at best, non-existent. Ariela wanted a lap dog to ride around on her chair. She liked him when he was a pup, but when he grew too big to fit on her lap, she lost interest. He was supposed to be 7 to 12 pounds. That’s what it says in the Havanese handbook. He’s a whopping twenty pounds the last time we checked, a mutant created by the GMOs in dog food.

Ariela was not impressed with his good looks and superior intelligence. He rings a bell by the door to let us know he wants to go out to do his business. He rolls over, shakes hands, and stands on his hind legs while he dances in a circle. He will do anything for a treat.

Rico was very jealous of Ariela. When I’d go to her, he’d thrust his wet snout in the back of my knees. If I continued to ignore him, he’d jump up and push my butt with his front paws. “Did you forget me?” Whenever I took her to the bathroom, a maneuver that would involve both of my arms and legs, Rico would run to the door and ring his bell.   Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, as if his bladder was in sync with hers.

Rico served as doorman for Ariela’s guests — her attendants, friends, therapists, teachers, the oxygen delivery guy. As soon as the front doorbell rang, Rico sprang into action, barking, jumping and whining, “Me, me, play with me.” A lot of noise all day, every day. I complained that I couldn’t get my work done, hear myself think, or listen to a phone conversation over the din of Rico barking, girls laughing, and music playing.

Rico sleeps by my desk now. He has what he wants – food, water, treats, and my attention. He misses the parade.

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