Miss Fluffy is my best dog friend. She is small and round and has soft hair hanging down into her eyes. She doesn’t seem to mind the bow Ellie’s  friend Maria puts between her ears. Her squeaky noises make my tail wag. She goes up to every human she sees to sniff, say hello, and get a pat on the back. Wow! How do you know they’re not going to kick you or pick you up and carry you off?

I run to the door as soon as Maria’s car pulls into the driveway. Maria always makes a fuss over me. Who could blame her? I don’t trust many humans, but Maria is on my short list. Miss Fluffy and I go on walks together with Lenore and Maria and sometimes we have sleep-overs.

I’m bigger and faster than Miss Fluffy; when we’re together, I let her know who’s boss: Hey Fluff, I’m going to pee on that tree and show you what a hunk I am.

She whines to go out, which she needs to do often. What a wimp!  But a sweet-smelling, sexy wimp and a buddy who sees things from my perspective–that is, a foot off the ground.  When Miss Fluffy comes to my house, the play starts.

“See that rope toy? Let’s see who can get it first!” she seems to say, as she races for the toy box.   She bites one end and I bite the other, and the tug of war is on. Especially when Lenore spends the day sitting in front of that box of flashing lights on her desk, a playmate is a great thing to have. When Fluffy spends the night, she sleeps in her tiny bed, right next to mine.

Mealtimes are a challenge, wherever we are, because Fluffy thinks my kibble is the tastiest thing she ever swallowed and I feel the same about hers. Ellie usually stands guard in the middle of the room.

“In this corner we have Foxy’s food. Stay back, Fluffy! And in this corner, we have Miss Fluffy’s food. Uh uh, Foxy!”

As soon as Ellie looks away, I scoot over to Miss Fluffy’s dish and scarf some down. Miss Fluffy does the same with mine. In the end, we both get plenty to eat and Ellie has no idea who ate what.

Miss Fluffy and I always like to get attention from humans, but especially when we are together. I can sleep under Ellie’s bed all day, but if Ellie is on the sofa and Miss Fluffy is getting her ears scratched, I want some too. It works both ways. If I climb up on the sofa for a tummy rub, Miss Fluffy has to get up there too, only she needs Lenore to help her up. I guess there’s enough love to go around for both of us.

The only problem with Miss Fluffy’s visits is when we go for a walk. I’ve searched for a polite way to say it—Miss Fluffy, you are a bit overweight and lag behind–no—you’re just plain chubby! She takes no offense, but, with her nose in the air and her tail wagging, her look tells me she’s a “lap dog” after all, meant to sit on some royal person’s knee all day getting frequent caresses and just going out in the yard when it’s necessary. I, on the other hand, love my long walks and running in the dog park. When Lenore takes us out, she struggles with the two leashes and Miss Fluffy just hangs back, taking her time, not a care in the world—what a pain!  Sometimes she even sits down and looks at Lenore and me as if to say “I’m done!”

One day Ellie announced, “Enough of this! Miss Fluffy, you’re going to go for a good walk and exercise off some of that fat!”

 Want to know what  happened? Read the rest in My Leash on Life, available at Amazon.com.