I do not come from humble beginnings--my given name is Green Valley's Miss Molly--but did have a rather rough start to it all. It began with my mother, a highly respectable Westie, and was taken home by a couple who--through no fault of mine--decided that they could no longer reside together. I have been told that, at this point in their relationship, the dastardly duo decided I should be put-down, rather than decide with whom I should reside. As fate was my fortune, a kind, frizzy-haired man rescued me, and brought me to meet Eric (the one the little people refer to as "Daddy").
Eric and I made fine bedfellows, living first in a very small cottage. It had a lovely view, but he had a peculiar habit of putting up a fence for me to climb in order for me to be able to enter the main living area. There was also an unfortunate incident with this odd contraption that would occasionally make rhythmic noise; I believe the word Eric used to refer to it was "music." This machine turned on one day while Eric was away, doing whatever it was that he did in the human world. I had apparently angered the machine, because the noise was louder than usual. I barked, but this machine was not to be trifled with. Barking did not phase it, so I knew I would have to result to brute force. A bump of my nose, and it became more angry, more loud. Again, I barked and nosed; again the machine grew louder. In fact, now it shook the floorboards with its anger. Well, I was no timid puppy, this machine was not going to win. I backed up, set my eyes square on the machine's jowls, and attacked. The machine screamed. It shook the house and wailed until I thought we might both go up in flames. Then, with one final, tremendous blare, the front of the machine blew forward, and the noise stopped. I had won. I believe this taught a lesson to all other contraptions in the house, as nothing else has given me trouble since.
I was pleased when Eric moved us from the cottage into a modest home in Cheboygan, where there were no odd fences or barriers in my path. In the evenings, I would allow Eric to be in the big bed, where he wrapped the covers around me. In the days, I would alert Eric each time danger approached--in the manner of an automobile passing by the home--by using my gift of a fine, shrill bark. And so we passed our time together for four years, waiting for something interesting to come along.
Then came Laura (the one that the little people call "Mommy") and Emma. I am sure, if you are reading this, you have met Laura. You know what a delightful human she is. Well, she loved me at first sight. I made a point to follow her around, sit behind her head when she sat on the couch, give her my bark of approval whenever I could, because I could tell that she adored me. She had clearly been lacking a White Terrier in her life, and I was willing to take that position, for prosperity's sake. I knew, for instance, that she immediately loved me, because she was always speaking to me. She would say things like, "Carolina, get out of my stinking way," or "Would you please shut up? You are driving me nuts!" Now, I do not understand much of Peopletalk, but I could tell from her loving tone that, in Laura, I had found my pet for life.
When Laura became pregnant with the first small person, the one the people refer to as Ben-Ben, I could tell right away. I became more diligent in my watchings of her, following her heels closely with my snout. When she would sit or lie down, I would place myself next to the growing baby, guarding it with my own life. Occasionally, I would get uncomfortable, as I would have to get deep into the covers at night to lie directly between Laura's legs, but I knew it was my duty as the caretaker of the home. I had to protect my people, even before they were born.
If I did have one complaint about Laura, it would be that she is often tardy in attending to my needs. As my pet, it is her function to ensure that I am fed, that I am let out to relieve myself, that I am groomed and coddled as needed, and that my water is refreshened when I deem necessary. There are just many times that Laura is, well, sitting. It really began when that Ben-Ben was taken out of her womb and released into our home. The least little sound from him would require Laura to pick him up and then promptly sit down in the green recliner with him snug close to her. Often, this happened just as I needed one of my duties attended to. If I attempted to climb into the chair with Laura, I would actually be shooed away (I hate to have to admit this about my darling pet; but, it is the truth.). If I barked, signaling my need for fresh water or a trip around the yard, Laura would not put that Ben-Ben down and attend to me. I know it sounds rude and inconsiderate, but I really have to believe it was due to some maternal hormone making Laura act strangely. There are times now, too, when she just does not seem to understand how important my needs are. For example, again in the green chair, Laura will sit with that Ben-Ben and the new one they call Becca, doing nothing but saying some Peopletalk from things the little people call "books." How something from one of these useless looking items could be more important than scratching behind my ears is absolutely beyond me.
In addition, I do have to mention a second complaint. In the night, I have to occasionally make a guard run, where I survey the front porch and yard to make sure that dangers are not approaching us. When I awaken Laura to open the means of entry and exit, I often have to use a mild bark, a more forceful bark, and--embarrassingly--a high-pitched yip before she will exit her bed. Then, as I am performing my survey, she says words that I can only assume are unkind ("Car-o-li-na, would you just go potty?!" or "Hurry your little white butt up!"), as her tone is harsh. I am certain, though, that, if she could only understand the importance of my task, Laura would return to her adoring self, my favorite pet.
All-in-all, it is a good life. I am well fed, I do get to visit Eric's mother (who truly understands the needs of a queen), and I have my pets. I could have done without the last two, those little people, as they often grab my fur or try to get me to chase after ridiculous items. I know that biting these little people is below me, thus a low growl or a well-spaced snap is all I ever use to warn them. This usually gets them to understand that Lily is actually the dog in this family. Lily will chase sticks, fetch toys, chew rawhides, and roll over to have her belly rubbed. No, this is not for me. It is important that all the Halls always understand that I am Carolina and I am The Queen.
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