Pups in Tea Cups

by

Carolyn McCray, DVM

Praise for Pups in Tea Cups:

Pups in Tea Cups is an amazing, heartfelt collection of stories sure to pull on the heartstrings of any dog lover. Truly an inspiring, touching, and immensely enjoyable read!”

Amber Scott

Author

Irish Moon

“Being a veterinarian, Dr. Carolyn McCray has been at the heart of many a true story where “Littleness” in the form of Chihuahuas, Yorkies, Poodles, Pugs, and many more have changed people’s lives—even saving a few. I reread many tales just to be able to laugh and even cry again. I can’t imagine a better book for any dog lover out there!”

Elena Gray

Author

WidowMaker

“As a veterinarian, I could completely relate to all of Carolyn’s stories. The joy and sometimes heart-wrenching moments. She had me laughing and crying at the same time. I couldn’t recommend this book more to anyone who loves dogs, not just the Tea Cup variety!”

Ken Herman, DVM

“This book is...a view of the charms and challenges of living with the tiny tyrants that toy-dog owners adore.”

Lori Drouin

Professional Dog Trainer

“I read Pups in Tea Cups cover to cover in one sitting. How could I not? I loved each and every tale, whether it was silly or touching. All I can say is ... if you love dogs, you MUST buy this book!”

Kelli McCracken

Author

What the Heart Wants

Start Reading

About the Author

Purpose of Pups in Tea Cups

Section One: An Introduction to “Littleness”

Section Two: “Littleness” in Action

Section Three: Survival Instincts? Not So Much!

Section Four: Little Dogs = Big Miracles

Section Five: Simply Silly Tales

Afterword

Medical Disclaimer

Copyright Information

Contact Information

Acknowledgments

Table of Contents

Other Works by Carolyn McCray

About the Author

Carolyn, her grandfather, Ladybug, and Blackie

Taken 1967 (and if you don’t believe it, just check out the cigarette)

“Neonatal veterinarian” is a term used to describe vet school applicants who apparently decided to become veterinarians while still inside the womb.

Carolyn McCray is one of those wonders. As proof, after visiting the zoo at the tender age of ten months old, Carolyn’s first word was “rhinoceros.” Not Momma or Daddy, but rhinoceros.

Yep, that’s when Carolyn’s obsession with animals officially began.

So while other kids in kindergarten wrote down that they wanted to grow up to be firefighters and nurses, Carolyn carefully printed “veterinarian” (spelled correctly, to the astonishment of her teacher).

Then came the bunny rescue, the aviary (including peacocks), the pony and sheep, two dogs, two cats, and tending to any animal in the neighborhood she could catch—we mean help.

And that’s just her preteen years. If “veterinarian” could be encoded into someone’s DNA, it was in Carolyn’s.

Her quest kicked into high gear at age fourteen, when her family adopted a Border Collie. And not just any Border Collie, but one that had been hit by a car, had a foxtail up its nose, and had somehow eaten rat poison before arriving.

Yeah, Carolyn’s mom wasn’t too thrilled with a vet bill of over $500 bucks (adjusted for inflation, the charges were more like $2,000 dollars). But that bill tested Carolyn’s dream of becoming a veterinarian against the reality of working within the profession.

You see, if she wanted to adopt “Sox,” she would have to volunteer at the vet clinic, helping to pay down the bill until she was old enough to get a work permit.

There wasn’t a second’s delay. Carolyn was at the clinic with bells on, cleaning cages, rinsing syringes, and generally learning everything she could about running a veterinary hospital. The day she turned fourteen and a half and could obtain a work permit, she was hired.

The rest is history.

Even once the bill was paid off, you couldn’t pry Carolyn from the clinic. She worked there until the day she left for UC Davis to finish up her undergraduate work.

The plan was for Carolyn to concentrate on academics and not work while studying to get into vet school, but, once again, fate stepped in.

Doing a favor for a friend, she went into the school’s employment office—where, of course, there was the wife of a veterinarian who was in desperate need of an assistant.

That’s another three years of clinical experience. So when Carolyn went to apply for vet school, she had over 10,000 hours of experience. Let’s just say she fulfilled the 600 hours required to apply.

Never thinking she could get into vet school on her first try, given her 3.75 GPA (at the time, the acceptance rate was 1 for every 12 applicants, and even 4.0 students were being rejected in droves), Carolyn looked at her application as a “trial run” to be fine-tuned for the next year.

Her application letter (filled with tales of rhinoceros and Border Collies) was strong enough to overcome her not-quite-perfect GPA and get her an interview.

But within the first few minutes of the interview’s start, Carolyn thought she had completely blown it, so she relaxed and just had fun, answering the stern interviewers’ questions with a lighthearted retelling of her experience and exploits.

Figuring she had just gone against every rule of vet school interviewing (you just DON’T joke with the head of nephrology), Carolyn went home and immediately got ready for her next application.

Little did she know that not only had the interviewers scored her session the highest of the class, but they had given her application an immediate acceptance.

Carolyn was so shocked when she received her letter of acceptance that she ran straight into her front door, forgetting to unlock or even open it, before she dashed for the phone to call her mom and thank her for making her work off “Sox’s” medical bill.

During her four years of vet school, an internship, and residency, Carolyn used this playful manner to educate clients on how best to keep their pets healthy and happy.

She was perfectly content with her pack of large-breed dogs—Labs, Aussies, and Vizslas, but fate changed the course of her life once again.

Actually fate crashed into Carolyn, quite literally. Being rear-ended on the freeway ruptured four discs in her back. After a year of rehabilitation, the most profound loss was that she could no longer lean over to do surgery, nor could she obedience-train dogs.

While she would miss surgery, Carolyn was distraught that she could no longer adopt big dogs. Growing up in the country, she had a typical prejudice against little dogs. Her mantra was that anything under thirty-five pounds couldn’t be trusted.

That is, until Princess, a five-pound Chihuahua, came into her life. In this little bundle of joy was all the interaction and attention Carolyn had missed.

The world of “Littleness” was opened, and it has been the center of Carolyn’s universe ever since.

The Purpose of

Pups in Tea Cups

After years spent in the exam room, hearing tales of amazing courage and absolute cuteness, Dr. Carolyn finally agreed to write a book regarding “Littleness.”

As more and more urban society trends toward apartment, condo, and townhouse living, our dogs have gotten smaller and smaller.

And cuter and cuter. And inseparable from us. Which means more and more celebrities began traveling with their munchkins, giving tiny breeds more and more press.

Many people who never considered a small breed (like Carolyn herself), found themselves with a bundle of joyous terror.

Even more amusing, many people who had never even owned a dog were adopting these little devils without a single clue as to how to overcome their stubbornness.

So this book is for anyone bewildered, hopeful, and totally in love with small-breed dogs. These pages are chock-full of heartwarming “Tales from the Tea Cup,” real-life stories of how “Littleness” can overcome BIG odds!

Section One

An Introduction to “Littleness”

Why Our Super-small Breeds Truly Are Special

It seems silly to actually write it down, but their tiny size really does make our pups in tea cups special.

For so many reasons, we are attracted to the tiny. Where we live, how we live, and how mobile we are makes our tea cup pups so easy to love.

Imagine trying to carry a German Shepherd in a Gucci “puppy sack.” Most Doberman Pinschers are not going to be welcomed into an apartment complex.

The AKC has even given our little guys a new category—“Portable Pooches.” Just as their small size has made them so easy to carry and ever so cute, it has also brought along its own unique set of characteristics that I like to call “Littleness.”

For me, “Littleness” is a distinct departure from “Bigness,” and I hope the following stories illustrate my point!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Antoinette” – The Ballerina

Our first tale comes from a very frustrated owner of a tiny tea cup poodle puppy named “Antoinette.”

Like many people, my client had owned dogs before. She thought that she knew what the family was getting into when they bought that precious puppy in the window.

I mean, she had owned German Shepherds. How different could a poodle be, anyway? Even a tiny one?

Well, she found out very quickly!

My client had created a lovely area off to the side of the lawn for the dogs to “do their business” in order to protect her award-winning landscaped yard.

This system had worked perfectly for all these years. Yet for some reason, little “Antoinette” just could not “get it.”

Sure, the pup would go in this little area if placed there, but when left to her own devices, she would go on the lawn that bordered the area.

Plus, once put into this garden patch, “Antoinette” would refuse to come out. Instead, she would bark and do the cutest, yet most decidedly defiant, little pirouettes.

It was such odd behavior that my client had become certain the pup had some form of brain damage, and brought “Antoinette” in to me for a very, very thorough exam.

Luckily, this was not my first walk around this particular block, so I just nodded and asked if this “potty” area had any kind of fence or retaining wall around it.

“Well, yes, but it’s just a few bricks high.”

I held up “Antoinette,” who fit in my hand, raised an eyebrow, and smiled.

An embarrassed laugh followed. It never occurred to her that the pup was just too small to make her way over this low decorative border.

Poor little “Antoinette” was trying so hard to obey, but what could she do? The wall was taller than she was!

But since those little pirouettes were so cute, my client decided to tape her antics and put them up on the Internet.

I told her to check out another video where an adult Shih Tzu (about seven to eight pounds, so not quite as tiny as little “Antoinette”) is put in the center of a square made up of soda cans. Soda cans. Not tall, energy-drink cans, but soda cans.

The Shih Tzu starts spinning, unable to understand the concept that she could very easily jump over them. To her, she’s trapped in some diabolical scheme created by aluminum to keep her imprisoned.

So our little ones truly cannot jump over low obstacles, whereas at other times, they simply don’t even think to try!

That’s “Littleness” for you!

Now, sometimes our pups’ small size creates a whole other set of problems. They may not be able to get over much, but my goodness, they can squirm their way into just about any nook and cranny.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Boss” – More Curious Than a Cat

Please note here that we all need to be very, very, very careful of how we name our pets, because they tend to embody those exact characteristics.

I distinctly remember that I once warned a new owner of a Fox Terrier puppy, “Boss,” to make sure that all electric cords and stereo wiring were completely hidden by the carpet or to use plastic shielding, so as to leave no cord available—especially since “Boss” had spent the entire exam trying to chew on my stethoscope.

The owner sagely nodded. “Of course, of course.”

Well, “of course,” the very next day, the new owner brought the pup in to be treated for an electrical burn across the tongue. Nothing fatal, but pretty scary for a new owner.

I didn’t get two steps into the room when my client began stammering how he had done as I advised. He swore that he had “hidden” all the cords.

Unfortunately, his definition of completely “hiding” the cords was the human definition of completely “hiding” from sight. To accomplish this, he had simply run the offending cords behind the couch. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

With a petite pooch? Not so much.

“Boss” promptly wiggled his way under the sofa, where he found this wonderful bundle of wires to chew on, away from prying eyes even. How very convenient!

My client was still flabbergasted. “But why would he even try to go under the couch?”

For me, with my years of “Littleness” training, it seems so obvious that if a pup can get under a couch, the pup will get under a couch.

However, you wouldn’t necessarily understand this axiom unless you have had tenacious little ones—and understand that from their perspective, getting under the couch is nothing more than a great adventure.

OF COURSE they are going to go under the couch. It’s their job to explore under there. They would lose their “Littleness” license if they didn’t.

Let’s just say, if a pup is small enough that he or she can fit in a tea cup, the pup is going to get under the couch. And the refrigerator. And don’t forget—behind the dryer.

When we have these little babies in our lives, we need to look at our homes with new eyes, figure out all the possible dangers, and block them off. Trust me. If they can get into trouble, they will!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Wasabi” – Shower Guard

Which brings us to “Wasabi,” possibly the cutest Yorkie, Maltese, and Shih Tzu cross that you’ve ever seen. She had very specific ideas about many things, but she really put her paw down about the shower.

“Wasabi” insisted on going into the shower each and every time her owners did to stand guard. They tried to convince her that she could complete her self-appointed task to protect them from outside the stall, but she would have none of it.

If blocked from entering the shower, she would bark and whine—and even gear up into a full-throttled, Beagle-style howl. The funniest thing about “Wasabi’s” behavior is that she hated the water! Hated it. She’s the kind of dog who would jump over a tiny puddle rather than get her dainty feet wet!

Yet, when it came to shower time, “Wasabi” would take a deep breath and jump right in. After all, her owners’ lives were obviously at stake!

My client came in to make sure that nothing was neurologically wrong with “Wasabi” (I can’t tell you how many little dogs I see every week for “neurological” problems that turn out to be nothing more than “Littleness” at its best and brightest.).

Luckily, I was able to clear “Wasabi” of any medical condition. My client was greatly relieved. She had been so worried about a brain tumor, or worse. I explained that “Wasabi” was just trying to protect her (I’m not sure from what, but hey, that’s the beauty of Littleness).

Well, since “Wasabi” was on such a valiant mission, my client decided to just let “Wasabi” shower with different family members.

But I had to warn them that it could be a problem. Dogs aren’t evolutionarily used to being bathed daily. Not only would it take them an hour to dry “Wasabi’s” hair every day (something that they had been doing for the past month) it would also wash off any flea preventative and dry out the skin.

Now, being a good veterinarian and behaviorist, I gave my client several strategies to manage the problem. “Wasabi” was already crate-trained, so they could just put her in there, and if she persisted in fussing, they could cover the crate, use a citronella collar, or a squirt bottle—the usual deterrents.

Of course, my clients followed none of this advice.

Instead, they tried to make a plastic enclosure for her inside the shower, but even that wouldn’t do. You see, “Wasabi” was intent on protecting them from the evil shower, and how could she do that if she were behind plastic? Please!

So my clients hired a contractor, who came out and built a plastic “awning” inside the shower so that “Wasabi” could sit inside the shower, not get very wet, and still be able to lick her owner’s legs if the mood struck her.

Now, every day and every time any member of the family takes a shower, “Wasabi” jumps in with them, gets up onto her little step (with a waterproof bed, no less), sits under the awning, and stands guard.

Problem solved!

No brain tumor, just silliness.

So there we have it. Little dogs aren’t just appealing because of their tiny frames. Somewhere along the way, we packed our Portable Pooches full of personality, plus some!

They are so very demanding, but so very loving—it’s very nearly a fault. If you think your Labrador is high maintenance, read the next essay to see just how wrong you are!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Love Bug”

Every Valentine’s Day, I am reminded of two little Yorkie puppies that I met very early in my career (I don’t want to age myself, but it was before CDs had been invented. #ouch)

I was just a kennel assistant back then, but my heart still broke when the two little puppies came in.

Back then, parvo was a very serious disease with a super-high mortality rate. We always did everything we could, but back then, we just didn't have the knowledge or resources to save most of them.

But here came these two pups, so sick, but so in love with one another.

Per standard protocol, we separated them into two different cages. They were side by side. But that was not enough. Somehow, they moved the barrier and were found snuggled together.

Okay. We tried putting them in two different banks of cages. Somehow, one of them broke out, and was found lying up against the bars—with the other lying on the bars from her side.

Now remember, I was just a kennel assistant, but I cared for a lot of patients and had great instincts, so I told the vet that I thought we should keep them together.

He had never heard of such a thing, and neither had I. I just had a gut feeling that they needed one another.

So with not a lot else that we could do, we decided to keep them together. It took several days. Hour by hour, they got stronger.

And they survived! It was the first set of pups we had that were that sick that fully recovered.

The owners, who came in every day to visit, decided to call the pair “Love” and “Bug.”

Those two pups went on to live happy, long lives.

After those two, though, we realized the importance of managing body heat and the simple comfort of having another animal with them.

For the really sick little babies, my Border Collie, “Sox,” would curl up with those sick puppies to let them know that someone in the world loved them very much. I can’t tell you what that did for our survival rates.

Even after so many advances have been made and how much better our survival rates are, there is still that occasional pup that gets so very sick. Thank goodness I had “Sox,” who would love to curl up in their cages and nurse them back to health.

So, don’t ever underestimate the power of “Love” (or “Bug”).

Section Two:

“Littleness” in Action

I love dogs. I mean, I really love dogs. As I mentioned, I’m what’s termed a “neonatal veterinarian.” I seemed to know that I wanted to be a vet while I was still in the womb. I’ve treated literally thousands of dogs—and found hundreds upon hundreds of them new homes.

Yet I can say with surety that little dogs have a completely different way of looking at the world than larger dogs, and certainly they interact within that world very differently. They really do spend most of their time trying to bend the world to their whims.

Most of our little guys are constantly trying to figure out how to get more pettings, more treats, and more love. Or if they don’t get it, how to most effectively punish you for not giving it to them.

Sure, there are some super-sweeties who never consider holding their love hostage to get an extra ten minutes of play before bedtime, but my experience talking with thousands of pet owners tells me those docile babies are the exception rather than the rule.

And that is why we love them so much. These little guys are so interactive. Because they are constantly scheming for affection, love, and rewards, they are such a delight.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Chief” – My Littleness Guru

A personal example. “Chief,” (Again, I should have been more careful in naming him.) my two-pound, three-legged Chihuahua, hates “down world.”

He prefers “up world.” Up in my lap. Up on the bed. Up on the couch. Anywhere that is up and soft and cozy is his strong preference.

Now, “down world,” (as in down on the ground, down on the floor, down on the cement) is awful. The firmness offends him. As I said, he hates it.

So, every morning he is absolutely positive that I can’t “make” him go outside (he likes to sleep in under his pink, plush blanket until noon. Thanks for asking).

Therefore, every morning, when I try to put him out to go to the bathroom before I go to work, he moans, he won’t kiss me, he squirms—trying anything and everything to convince me not to make him go outside on the evil, evil ground.

There is a very clear “you can’t make me, you can’t make me” in all of his actions.

And every morning, when I finally set him down on the ground, he has a “shoot, darn it” moment. He really thought, on this morning of all mornings, that his tantrum would work.

Then the rest of the pack comes back (they, being good dogs, had already run out into the yard to take care of their potty needs) and comforts him. He then shakes off his disappointment and trots out with the rest of the pack.

This happens EVERY morning. Every single one. He is undeterred by his past failures. He is absolutely sure that today will be his final victory.

That is the “Littleness” temperament in a nutshell. It is that perfect blend of stubbornness, optimism, and conniving cuteness that makes us their willing servants.

But of course, there is a cost to this extra dose of adorableness, which is usually paid for during training.

If a Shih Tzu doesn’t want to sit, she isn’t going to sit. Period. End of statement. If a Border Terrier doesn’t want to eat his kibble, he’s not going to eat his kibble. Period.

Or so they think. Just as “Chief” is convinced that he will someday be able to sleep in ’til noon when I have to be at work at 8:00 a.m., there are ways around their stubbornness. Unfortunately for us, this requires guile and lots of patience.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Kippy” and His Spreadsheet

Kids and puppies. They seem like such a natural combination, right? However, having that child take care of the puppy can be a little more problematic.

I normally recommend that a child be at least over thirteen years old before he or she is the primary caregiver for a dog, let alone a puppy. For puppies, I usually recommend that a child be at least fifteen years old.

Of course, there are exceptions to this rule. I remember one nine-year-old girl who assured me that she had the “right stuff” and would be able to take care of a tiny, one-pound puppy (she was willing to spend her entire summer vacation on the project).

I might have scoffed, but she brought in a printout (in Excel, no less) of the theoretical puppy’s schedule that she had worked out. She had even calculated the number of calories that the puppy would need to eat per day (which even I had to check by going back into my office and pulling out a reference book).

I figured that I could take a chance on a fellow neonatal veterinarian in the making, and gave her mom the thumbs-up to get that young girl a puppy.

Needless to say, she warranted my trust. It was she who insisted that “Kippy” be brought in for an ear infection. The nine-year-old noticed “Kippy’s” torn nail.

But, most importantly, she noticed a tiny bruise on the puppy’s ear. Most adults—heck, even I—might have chalked that up to a play injury, but my client’s daughter was concerned, since “Kippy” came from a farm environment and may have been exposed to rat bait.

Sure enough, the pup did have a prolonged bleeding time, and we promptly treated “Kippy” with the antidote. Her acute observation had saved “Kippy’s” life!

Just as puppies can surprise you, so can kids!

But the story doesn’t end there. Several years later, a frantic “Kippy” woke the girl. Even though she was groggy and tired, she trusted “Kippy’s” instincts and roused the whole house. Everyone was groggy. They got out of the house and realized that they were being poisoned by carbon monoxide. Their furnace had sprung a leak.

“Kippy” returned the favor to his mistress by saving the whole family!

“Kippy” and his mistress went on to live a happy life. When his owner went away to college, so did “Kippy”!

Somehow, this bright, intelligent girl convinced her dorm to take him!

My guess? She had an extensive spreadsheet!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Lady Bug”

Not So Sure About This Whole “Family Thing”

This is a really personal story, because “Lady Bug” was my first experience with a little dog. I only took her because no one else would. She had been found as a stray, beaten up in a dogfight.

Given how thin she was, she had been on the street for a while, and she wasn’t exactly the cuddly type. She was so refractory to human touch that the clinic I was working for decided that she was too dangerous to treat. The staff was going to send her to the shelter.

Even though she tried to bite me every time I touched her, I couldn’t let her go to the shelter (where she would never survive), because every once in a while I could see in her eyes a desire to connect.

She hesitated slightly before she struck, like a cobra.

Now, even though I had never had small dogs before, I had hand-tamed feral cats, so I knew a thing or two about patience. I brought “Lady Bug” home, and she immediately ran under the bed and wouldn’t come out. It took the rest of my dogs to coax her out from under there.

Then, over the next few days, I ignored her. Well, actually, I just didn’t look in her direction, but I talked to her. On and on. About this and that. About how much fun it was to get pets and kisses if she would just trust me.

My boyfriend at the time thought I was insane. But about three days later, I was on the floor playing with the dogs when I felt a new tongue on my cheek. “Lady Bug” had snuck in a kiss! It was all good from there. Pretty soon, she was my little lapdog (fighting my cat for the privilege).

A few weeks after that, a technician from the hospital where I worked came over for dinner. After “Lady Bug” showered her with kisses, my friend asked, “When did you get a new dog?” I tilted my head. “Um, you were there when I took her home,” I said.

This veterinary professional was shocked that “Lady Bug” could be the same dog! She had gone from land shark to a kissing machine.

And “Lady Bug’s” magic didn’t end there. A few months later, we had a severe thunderstorm, and a drenched and terrified black Chihuahua ended up on the clinic’s doorstep.

The technician and I were standing outside the poor baby’s cage (no microchip, no collar, no tags, and no family to be found) as it huddled in the corner, growling at us.

My friend turned to me. “Remind me again—how did you tame ‘Lady Bug’?”

After a few weeks of letting the Chihuahua find his place in the house, “Thunder” went on to have a great life at my friend’s home.

Mind you, both “Thunder” and “Lady Bug” are lessons in advanced “Littleness,” not to be taken on by the inexperienced or faint of heart. Both of those stories exemplify how much patience can pay off.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Sophie,” “Popcorn,” and “Cocoa Puff” – Handing over the Torch

“Littleness” has the most amazing way of healing hearts and bringing families together.

I have to let you know, though, that this one has a bit of a poignancy alert! Get the tissues ready!

One of my favorite examples of the amazing journey that “Littleness” can take us on is the story regarding the sixteen-year-old daughter of one of my best clients.

After losing their cherished Bichon Frise, “Sophia,” my client kind of lost her heart and her will to have a new puppy. They had two other older Bichon crosses, and my client was perfectly happy to keep it that way. But her teenage daughter had other plans.

While she was still grieving the loss of “Sophia,” she wanted to have that strong of a bond to a pet of her very own. She wanted to find just the right dog that she could take to college with her in a few years. A small dog. A Chihuahua.

Let’s just say that this girl did her research. Scoured the Internet. Went to shelters. Contacted rescue organizations. But none had just the right pet. At that point, she looked into local breeders—and even a pet store or two. And bless her heart, she kept to her principles and did not snatch up the first cutie she saw.

We had talked at length, and she knew what she wanted. She knew the type of spark that should happen, and she wasn’t going to bring home a dog until she felt it. Her mother had spoken frequently of the first time she had ever met “Sophia.”

After a few months, she became discouraged. I reassured her that it is normally in those moments when the magic happens.

Of course, she didn’t believe me until the next day.

She had gone over to a friend’s house to study for a chemistry test when they heard some yipping.

She felt the spark even before she saw the puppy. She knew that this was the pup for her. Just that single sound convinced her. She rushed over to the neighbor’s house to find the tiniest fluff ball fussing and whining.

Somehow, the neighbors had found this little baby under their house. They asked around the neighborhood, but no owner was found. No one knew how the pup had gotten there, but there he was—just waiting for my client to come and find him.

Needless to say, she forgot all about the chemistry test and raced home with her new puppy, “Popcorn.”

Who knows what breed “Popcorn” is. Maybe some Chihuahua. Maybe some Terrier. Maybe some Maltese. “Popcorn” might be a Heinz 57, but he’s 100-percent cute.

While he didn’t look exactly like what she thought he would, her heart was open to see that “Popcorn” was exactly the dog she wanted. He was playful and friendly, yet a really kind and gentle little dog.

And the perfect patient (always a bonus for me).

“Popcorn” even opened the heart of the girl’s mom again. She confided to me that she really thought she was done with dogs. She was just waiting for her older pets to pass away until she could travel unencumbered.

Well, “Popcorn” changed all that. Six months before her daughter—and “Popcorn,” of course—were to leave for college, the family came in to seek my advice on getting another puppy to replace the departing “Popcorn.”

I reminded her mother of her vow to never adopt another dog, and we all laughed. How silly that sounded now. No, now they were looking for something tiny for the mom. Some little munchkin that could travel all over with her. Of course, they were hoping for a carbon copy of “Popcorn.”

I told them the story of the pup that had been relinquished to me that very day. She had been “rescued” from the pound (not much of a rescue if you are just going to take them back, but that’s another story) and had come down with a skin parasite. She looked ratty and mangy. She wasn’t the right color. She wasn’t the right age. She wasn’t the right breed.

There was nothing right about this little abandoned puppy, except that she was exactly right for this family. Before I could even get all the negatives about this puppy out of my mouth, the mom said, “I have to see her.”

I reminded her that besides swearing off dogs forever, she had double-sworn off “project” dogs. She had always been the type to want a fairly low-maintenance dog.

But “Popcorn” had changed that, too. Mom had seen the magic that can happen when you open your heart, and she was willing to take the risk.

Well, I brought that little, pathetic, black, terrier-coated, scruffy-looking pup out, and it was love at first sight. She was named “Cocoa Puff” on the spot.

Besides being a great double-adoption story, “Cocoa Puff’s” tale became a really touching bonding story between mother and soon-to-be-leaving-the-nest daughter. They spent the next six months together nursing “Cocoa Puff” back to health.

Still, to this day, years later (the daughter is now all grown up and married), they still come in and fondly remember their adventure together—both saying it was the best summer of her childhood.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Zeppo”: Kid-Friendly? Not So Much.

I must say that I love it when a Tale from the Tea Cup is not just inspirational, but also educational.

I use this one all the time to reinforce how important it is to make sure that you pick the RIGHT little dog.

Read on to see what I mean…

A client wanted to get a puppy for her toddler. I, of course, advised her about how each animal is an individual, and how careful you must be in selecting your new family member. I went into great detail about how young puppies are sometimes nippy, especially around young children—who tend to put their hands, and even faces, where they might not belong.

But then she got busy and excited and ended up buying a Shih Tzu puppy from a pet store. She got the little munchkin home, put the pup in her young son’s arms, and the puppy bit his nose!

The poor kid was screaming and terrified. The pup? The pup was fine. He had made his point.

On their way back from the emergency room, they brought the pup in to my clinic to make sure that he didn’t have rabies (always something neurological rather than just “Littleness” in action) and discuss how to proceed.

After getting a more thorough history (the pup had slunk back when the mom first went to get the pup out of the cage at the pet store, and even growled a little when petted the wrong way), and seeing the toddler absolutely freaked-out by the puppy, we decided to find the pup a new home.

Just as adults and children are individuals, so are puppies. Everyone involved in the pup’s life should be introduced to the pup before bringing him home to make sure everyone can get along.

In this case, luckily, I had another client who had recently lost his dog after losing his wife a short time ago. Everything seemed okay on the outside. He would frequently come in to return medications or to check on a friend’s dog.

What none of us knew was that when he wasn’t at the clinic, he was at home in a deep depression. His daughter and doctor were worried about his mental state.

I, knowing none of this, called him up and asked if he would like to see the puppy. He told me that his daughter didn’t want him to get another dog. I asked him what he wanted.

He showed up at the clinic ten minutes later. It was love at first sight. Since he had given away all the items from his last dog, we made sure to get him everything he would need until he could go to the store.

Well, the next day, his daughter showed up at the clinic and gave me a piece of her mind. She was quite upset that I had “dumped” a puppy on her father. I tried to explain that I had only offered the puppy to him since he seemed in need of a companion, and of course, if it didn’t work out, I would find a new home for “Zeppo.”

Let’s just say that was not enough for her, and she stormed out.

I tried to call my client, but he didn’t answer.

I shouldn’t have worried, though. Two hours later, father and daughter came into the hospital. He showed off all the sweaters he’d bought “Zeppo,” and she apologized.

Her dad was his spry old self. He hadn’t answered his phone because he was out buying the sweaters. He then came home to wash the dishes, do some laundry, and get the house “nice” for the puppy.

Yep. Another story of “Littleness” in action!

As a side note, the poor toddler took a little longer to get over his aversion to little dogs with very sharp teeth, but eventually the family adopted a two-year-old, super-mellow Australian Shepherd cross that fit their lifestyle just perfectly.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“D.O.G.” – The Doggie that Defined My Career

And before we get into the story, I know “D.O.G.’s” parents would want me to tell you that her name is pronounced “D-O-Gee,” NOT Dog!

You see, they found her on the front steps one morning as a tiny puppy. No one else was around. No neighbors with Shih Tzus. Just a “D.O.G.” on the front porch. She got her name because my clients had a toddler, and they would spell “D.O.G.” in front of him so that he wouldn’t get too attached. Then, when they decided to keep her, he shouted out, “Yay! We get to keep ‘D.O.G.’!”

And she was the cutest, sweetest dog in the universe. She would run right up to you, wagging her tail...“Hi, I’m ‘D.O.G.’, and I love you.” Then she would plant a kiss on your nose.

But back to my career. I mean, I knew I wanted to be a vet. They call people like me “neonatal veterinarians,” since we pretty much knew in the womb that we wanted to treat animals.

There are those teenage years when your mind wanders and you start looking at other options. Not very seriously, of course, but still, you are a teen, ya know?

It was during one of these periods when tragedy struck “D.O.G.” Her mommy was holding her in her arms when a Labrador (yes, a Lab, as shocking as that is) jumped up and attacked poor “D.O.G.”!

I won’t go into the details, but “D.O.G.” was horribly injured. Mommy ran her in, and we promptly did surgery. But let me tell you, there were complications. We were not at all sure that “D.O.G.” was going to make it.

While she was recovering from anesthesia, I held “D.O.G.” in my arms and prayed as hard as I could that she would make it.

Still groggy, and in so much pain that I can’t imagine, “D.O.G.” looked up and said with her eyes, “I’m ‘D.O.G.’, and I love you.” Then she kissed me.

Whatever doubts I may have had about my career evaporated. I knew in that singular moment that I wanted to be just like my mentor. I wanted to be the person whom mommies and daddies ran to when everything seemed lost, and, at the very least, try to save their precious babies.

“D.O.G.” did great. She never looked back from that surgery and recovered faster than any of us could have guessed. She wasn’t even afraid of Labradors!

So thank you, “D.O.G.,” for making sure that I stayed the course. I hope I have lived up to both my mentor’s—and your—standards.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Daisy” and “Lulu” – Unlikely Friends

To tell the tale of “Daisy” and “Lulu,” first we must tell the tale of their mother. She’d had a Maltese as a little girl. She loved Maltese. She knew deep down that she wanted a Maltese after her Golden Retriever passed away. Actually, it was really the “family” dog that they had gotten for the kids—who had since moved on to college.

I encouraged her to look into rescue groups, shelters, and humane societies in her search for a Maltese. I gave her some advice about what to look for in a healthy Maltese and sent her on her journey.

Imagine my surprise when she showed up for her next appointment with an older Basset Hound cross.

Now, my background is in humane work, so I commend anyone who adopts an older pet. I also realize that many people have an idea of what they want, then fall in love at first sight with a completely different type of pet, and live happily ever after.

However, I do see the other side of the coin. People who know what they want, and then get “talked” into something else. I don’t blame the local humane society for encouraging an older pet adoption, but I’m never a fan of leveraging guilt to encourage adoptions.

Not knowing into which category my client fell, I examined “Daisy” and found that she had some pretty dirty teeth and a small mammary nodule.

At this point, “Daisy’s” mom burst into tears. I backtracked, trying to reassure her that I felt we could make sure that “Daisy” had a long, healthy, and happy life. But the tears were not about her fears of breast cancer. “Daisy” just wasn’t the dog she had dreamed of, and she felt guilty for feeling disappointed.

Being an empty nester, “Daisy’s” mom had wanted something small and energetic. A bright spirit to wake up to in the morning. A little darling to take to the dog park (“Daisy” wasn’t that into long walks, or other dogs, for that matter). While she loved “Daisy” greatly and felt proud for saving her from certain death, she still felt deeply disappointed that she would not have that “spark” she so craved.

I reassured her that she had no reason to feel guilty. Bringing a dog into our lives is no less important or complicated than bringing a new person into our household. Personalities need to mesh.

We had a long conversation about her hopes and dreams and wishes regarding her canine companion. It became crystal clear that only a bright, gregarious small-breed dog would fulfill her need (preferably one with fluffy hair).

Almost embarrassed, she also related to me that she hadn’t had a puppy in decades, and, given her age, she might not have the energy to have one again. We discussed that, at that time of year, there were very few puppies of any breed, let alone a little one, up for adoption.

Now, you have to remember, I come from a long history of humane work. I ran the largest no-kill shelter in Oregon for years.

Since there was no way in heck that “Daisy” was going back to the pound, it nearly hurt me to say it. But I took a deep breath and recommended that she go buy a puppy. She was floored. She knew my history. We talked often of how many dogs died in the pound system, but there I was, recommending that she research a breeder and get the puppy of her dreams.

You see, despite my passion for rescue, I am also devoted to lifelong placements. Building a family that can stand the test of time—where both dog and person should be happy.

To me, “Daisy’s” mom had “given at the office.” She had done her duty and rescued a dog from certain death. It was her turn to be rewarded. I reassured her that her good karma would be intact.

For people who aren’t in the position to have a second adopted pet, I recommend that they donate an amount equal to the purchase price of a pet to a humane organization to keep their karma on the good side.

“Daisy’s” mom did both. She found the cutest-of-the-cute Morkie (Maltese and Yorkie cross) and named her “Lulu.”

Now, for all those worried about “Daisy’s” lump, it turned out to be completely benign, and her teeth were made squeaky clean. Even better, “Lulu” fell in love with “Daisy,” following her everywhere, learning about the doggie door and where the water bowls were. It is so awesome to have an older dog assist in puppy training.

My client began playing bridge again. She started taking sculpting classes. She made friends at the dog park. She began a company knitting specialty sweaters for little dogs.

Instead of heading into retirement head down, just marking time, my client had a whole new and bright chapter in her life opened up by “Daisy,” and especially “Lulu.” Actually, for the entire family.

To complete the story, not only did “Lulu” brighten my client’s life, but “Daisy’s” as well. “Lulu” reminded “Daisy” of how much fun it was to get up in the morning and play.

That’s what makes me tear up each time I tell this story. “Lulu” couldn’t help that she was born to privilege. She was just a puppy looking to spread joy, and joy she did spread! Well, to be fair, she also ate a diamond earring and tore up a hand-stitched pillow, but that’s what you expect with “Littleness.”

When making an important decision, such as welcoming a new four-legged family member home, we have to put guilt and political correctness aside.

We have to open our hearts and listen to our hopes and dreams. We have to look at the wide range of expectations and wishes, and then we need to go out and do our search with an equally open heart, being prepared for magic to happen.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Linus” the Troublemaker

To pull this all together, let me share with you a personal story. I was in the market for a fifth dog. That fifth slot in my pack usually goes to a foster dog, which is always a breath of fresh air.

I love my pack more than life itself, but they are a little …boring? Okay, not boring, but settled. They are smart and obedient and, well…they don’t really do anything bad.

The two little ones would like to play, but they would never actually admit to liking to play. The two girls don’t really enjoy one another’s company, and my large male, “Orlin,” is the low-maintenance guy of the household. He just kind of rolls with the punches. Goes with the flow. Absolutely no drama there.

But when a fifth dog that loves to play—especially a younger one—comes into the picture, it shakes things up. Games of “tag” spontaneously spring up, and there is much gaiety.

It’s been a while since we’ve had a foster. I knew it was too long when the little ones started trying to play with me. I wouldn’t mind, except the only game they like to play is “the hand game.” That’s where they play tug-of-war with my fingers. Yeah, sometimes that gets painful.

Now usually, that fifth dog comes along on its own. I’m a vet, after all, working in a vet hospital. Some little injured baby usually finds its way into my heart. But for some reason, nothing had come in.

I began to think about going out and looking not just for a fifth foster dog, but a permanent addition to the pack. I needed something a little younger (but by no means a small puppy. I work nearly twelve-hour days), with lots of verve, who liked to play, and did I mention that I needed the newest to be a male (like I needed another female that the other two girls could ignore!)

As much as I love Griffons, my favorite terrier (whose personality fits the above description to a T) is the Cairn. They are just so smart—and smart-alecky. I did as I advised and searched online, put out feelers, and waited.

But nothing came. So I waited some more. All the while, I have two Chihuahuas who refuse to play with each other, but who insist that I play the “hand game” with them. That would be them grabbing hold of my hand and tugging on it. Now, I can tug back a little, but if I even dare to get close to winning, they throw a tantrum.

So one afternoon, after having a Chihuahua on each hand and failing yet again to bring them together to play with each other, I decided that enough was enough. We needed a fifth dog!

Out to three different shelters we went. So many dogs, but none with all the characteristics I needed. Some were super-sweet, but female. Others were playful and male, but too big. Remember, “Chief” is two pounds and has only three legs. Even a new dog accidentally falling on him could cause problems.

We found a goat that I would have adopted in a heartbeat if I had a ranch. Some ducks and even a goose, but no puppy.

I was about to give up. Maybe the universe was trying to tell me it wasn’t the time for a fifth dog—when we walked into the last local area shelter. Across four rows of kennels, I saw him. White and fluffy and adorable.

He was wagging his tail, smiling at me (but not barking—always a good sign) from across the way. Love at first sight. As I hurried over to him, I worried that he was too perfect. With my motley crew of parvo survivors and three-legged wonders, how could I bring home a beautiful, fluffy poodle?

I arrived at his cage, and he squirmed in sheer delight. Then, to my amazement, he turned around. He didn’t have a back foot! He was a cripple!

That’s it! You’ve got to join the McCray brood! I thought. The helpful adoption coordinator was so busy trying to convince me that he could live a long and productive life that she didn’t hear the part about how I was a vet! After that got cleared up, “Linus” was mine. Again, be VERY careful what you name your pet. Even though I named him “Linus” after a childhood lamb, he turned out to be more like the Peanuts character, Pigpen. Unfortunately, the puppy has taken this to heart, and a cloud of dust—of his own making—follows him around.

While he wasn’t in the physical form I had hoped he would come in (a Cairn Terrier), his personality and verve were just what the doctor ordered!

Section Three:

Survival Instincts?

Not So Much!

You would think that if you were hungry, you would eat. If you were small, you would be careful. If you were thirsty, you would drink. You know, especially when you are little. And weigh barely more than a thimble.

Think again. Our little guys make it nearly an art to try to endanger themselves. From risk-taking (some think they are mini-mountain goats) to hunger strikes, tea cup pups have done it all.

Which shocks their parents to no end. Even parents who work with dogs for a living!  Over the years, I have had not only a receptionist befuddled by her new pup, but a veterinarian as well.

A vet! Someone who has practiced for over a decade. Completely clueless when it came to a little, one-pound Maltese. The smaller, the less trouble, right?

Read on!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Miss Buttercream Cupcake”

Before we dive into the story of “Cupcake,” I want to mention that I get teased incessantly at work regarding my love of “Littleness.” The other veterinarians chuckle and just shake their heads when I wax poetic about my Chihuahuas.

That is, until the day a little Maltese came in from a pet store very anemic with worms. The pet store couldn’t afford to treat the puppy, so my colleague adopted the little bundle.

My colleague handled the medicinal care like the champ that she is. She treated the pup promptly, turning a life-threatening situation around on a dime.

Then came the nursing care. Nurturing that pup back to health. Having her thrive.

Needless to say, it didn’t go well. The pup wouldn’t eat, and they were struggling with her low blood sugar. Plus, she was so thin that she was having a hard time making new blood cells.

Desperate, my colleague came to me to consult on the case. The medicine was perfect. It was the nursing care that wasn’t up to “tea cup” standards.

Very matter-of-factly, I told her that she was going to have to completely adore the puppy. So much so that she needed to give over her life to the puppy. Everything had to be about the puppy. The puppy could be the only thing in her world.

She laughed heartily, and then realized that I wasn’t joking. “But I have two kids.”

“I know,” I responded. I told her that they should also turn their lives over to her as well. The more people who were “worshipping” her, the more it would help.

My friend shook her head at my “theatrics” and took the puppy home.

You see, she had always had large dogs. Springer Spaniels, Labradors, and even a Great Dane. If the puppy were hungry, she would eat. As she said, there was every biological reason to eat. Survival instinct had to kick in at some point.

I smiled and said, “Sure, you just keep telling yourself that.”

So the next morning, my colleague came up to me. “So talk to me about this giving-over-of-your-life-force-thing.”

The night before, the pup refused to eat—even spitting out food force-fed to her. Then her blood sugar would go so low that she would have tremors. My colleague feared that the pup wouldn’t survive if she couldn’t get her to eat.

Not worried, I showed her how to snuggle the pup (which is totally different from just holding her—there’s lots of baby talk and kisses). I was about to show her how to feed the puppy when my colleague was called to an appointment.

Not giving it a second thought, I snuggled with the puppy and told her all the reasons I loved her. I covered her head with kisses and warmed up the food. I watched her eat, but wasn’t satisfied with how much she had taken in. I then put some of the slurry into a syringe and let her lick it off the tip (which, for some reason, pups are fascinated by).

I repeated this cycle (cuddling and making sure the food was at the exact temperature she liked) until “Cupcake’s” belly was full (I mean, like a tick’s).

My colleague came back into the room and was shocked! The pup had never eaten that much in an entire day before!

Then she found out the pup had eaten it all by herself (well, you know, except for me holding the syringe for her).

As I was explaining my technique to my friend, I put the puppy in her crate. My colleague laughed. The pup would never tolerate going in there. She was certain that  “Cupcake” would whine and fuss, burning even more calories trying to get out.

I shook my head. Those were behaviors of a hungry puppy. “Cupcake” needed a nap so that she could digest. I put the baby in her crate, covered it, and we didn’t hear another peep out of her for four hours.

From there on out, “Cupcake” did amazingly well. She thrived. Her blood sugar stabilized. Her red cells multiplied. Within the week, she was able to come off of iron supplements.

With our little guys, medicine isn’t enough. Nursing care, and convincing them that life is worth living, is equally important.

Now my colleague is as much a true believer as I am. “Littleness” isn’t just a size. It is a condition!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Hermione” – How Many Calories Does Love Have?

I sometimes forget what life was like without “Littleness.”

How rational and straightforward it seemed. Just like my colleague, I used logic to help me treat the pets brought to me.

If an animal were hungry, it would eat. That seemed pretty much set in stone.

Then I got Chihuahuas. I realized that for many of them, being hungry and ingesting food had nothing to do with one another.

This point was brought home when one of my receptionists adopted an abandoned Chihuahua puppy. It had lots of problems—circling, stumbling, and not eating.

Another doctor saw the pup and diagnosed it with about three fairly serious conditions. I probably would have done so back in the days before I realized what a big problem “Littleness” could be.

Worried as she was, waiting for the test results, the receptionist came to me, asking what she should do. I told her the same thing that I told my colleague. “Give up your life, and just love the puppy until she takes in enough calories.”

“But you don’t understand! ‘Hermione’ won’t eat!”

They were certain something neurological was wrong with the puppy (even a vet can be fooled by the more extreme “Littleness” behaviors), because “Hermione” would eat a few bites, wander away crying, and then would start to circle.

“She’s just hungry.”

My receptionist got more and more agitated. Obviously, I didn’t “get it.” “But the food is right there!”

“And your point would be?”

Before she could get any more worked up, I put the pup down with a bowl of food. Sure enough, she ate two bites, and then wandered away. So I picked the pup up, gave her snuggles and kisses, and then put her back at the bowl. She ate two more bites, and then tried to wander away.

Each time, I stopped her. I gave her some love and kisses, then put her back to her food bowl. Soon she was eating four bites at a time, and then six bites. I would love to say eight bites, but that would be way too much to expect!

Now, of course, this took fifteen minutes to accomplish, but the puppy not only had a big fat “tick” belly, but she curled up and fell asleep!

Full pups are the best sleepers around. As strange as it seems, “Hermione” was whining because she was hungry. Her little brain could not comprehend that food would make the hunger go away. Those two bites didn’t do it, so what would?

Many times, it doesn’t occur to our little ones that eating more will fill them up. Hunger and eating just don’t go together for them.

The next week, when my receptionist brought the pup back in, no one even recognized “Hermione.” The strange wobbling was gone. She could walk a straight line and would actually eat when food was put down!

“Hermione” is now a perfectly normal puppy. She just didn’t have any survival instincts. Which, in the world of “Littleness,” is pretty darn common.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Titan” and “Frannie” – The Oddest of Odd Couples

Now, on very special occasions, the situation is reversed, where little dogs get big dogs to eat. But to truly tell “Frannie’s” “Littleness” story, I must tell a quick tale of “Bigness.”

“Titan” was truly a god among dogs, but he certainly wasn’t bred for it. He was some kind of German shepherd, Labrador, and Poodle cross. While somewhat handsome, no one could know that a hero’s heart resided in such a mutt’s chest.

“Titan” wasn’t even a year old when he went out on a boating trip with his family. “Titan’s” “brother” (his owners’ three-year-old son) got away from his parents. “Titan” grabbed the toddler by his life vest to keep him from going overboard.

But that didn’t work. Somehow, the child had untied the vest (yes, it was that long ago—before childproof buckles). It slipped right off, and the boy fell into the ocean.

Without hesitation, the dog plunged in after the child. But, of course, the boy was panicking, thrashing in the water, and the boat had sped away far enough so that there was no way his parents could get back to him in time.

As the boat was circling back, the mom kept her head and shouted out, “Ride ‘Titan,’ baby! Ride ‘Titan’!”

Those words broke through the boy’s panic, and he grabbed hold of “Titan’s” neck and pulled himself onto the dog’s back, and “rode” “Titan”—just like he did every day.

Quite casually, “Titan” swam up to the boat, but once safely aboard, they realized that “Titan” was limping. As he had jumped overboard, he must have hit the metal railing, because he had broken his foot!

“Titan” did all that with a broken foot! And without complaint.

Now, that would have been enough for most heroic dogs, but after “Titan” got out of his cast, he became a search and rescue dog, finding dozens of disaster survivors. Blizzards, fires, earthquakes, or avalanches, “Titan” was there.

But life had another challenge in store for “Titan”…cancer. I won’t go into details, but “Titan” went through over a dozen surgeries and multiple rounds of chemo battling his cancer. His parents and I talked frequently about how far is too far, and how much further “Titan” wanted to go. But his owners couldn’t give up. They owed their son’s life to him. They had to try.

We also talked about getting another dog, but the one thing “Titan” wasn’t was dog friendly. For all his greatness, he was not all that fond of his fellow canines.

Then the joyous day came, and “Titan” was declared cancer free. But it turned out to be bittersweet, because he stopped eating. He didn’t eat for weeks. He was hand-fed, and then force-fed, and then we considered a feeding tube. It was so hard to give up on “Titan.” Unfortunately, after finally beating the cancer, he seemed ready to succumb to anorexia.

Finally, their son, now a teenager, couldn’t take “Titan’s” quiet misery and his parents’ grieving any longer. He brought them “Frannie-bo-bannie,” a little, two-pound Pomeranian puppy.

Before they could say anything, “Frannie” ran straight up to “Titan” and kissed him. He growled, so she kissed faster.

Now you might think that this story would end with “Titan” and “Frannie” being best friends, cuddling together, with “Titan” bravely guarding his little sister, but their story is a far greater testament to “Littleness” than that.

“Titan” didn’t like her. Not one bit. This worked out perfectly, because the second thing “Frannie” did was run over and try to eat his food. “Titan,” being “Titan,” couldn’t let that stand, so he rushed over and growled her off.

But, “Frannie” being “Frannie,” she danced and played, stealing bites in between growls. “Titan” became so outraged that he began eating his food, slowly at first, and then with more and more eagerness.

They even taught “Frannie” the command, “Go bug your brother” or “Get ‘Titan’ to eat.”  It worked every time, and “Titan” began to gain back the weight he had lost.

“Titan” and “Frannie” even worked out a system. Each time “Titan” was hungry—but didn’t want to admit that he was hungry—he would go over to his food bowl and growl. Sure enough, on cue, “Frannie” would run over and start the “Just try and stop me from stealing your food” dance.

She did all this because “Frannie” worshipped “Titan.” Everything he did was fascinating. Every move he made, she had to be a part of. “Frannie” would sit there for hours, licking “Titan” as he growled and grumbled (but of course, he would turn his head so she could lick the other side of his face).

Their parents swear that she sits there and listens as “Titan” tells her the stories of his grand exploits, since her size doesn’t really allow her to travel the Sierras in a snowstorm. They are perfect buddies for one another.

That doesn’t even take into account the joy and life she brought into their parents’ lives. Just to see their faces light up, as they used to when “Titan” was out saving the world, brings tears to my eyes.

If that isn’t a perfect example of how “Littleness” can come to the rescue, I don’t know what is!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Pumpernickel” – Flying High without a Net

Now, goodness knows that our little guys can throw big tantrums around eating … you know…enough calories to stay alive, but another major issue with our Portable Pooches is that they think they are too portable.

Some think that they are mountain goats. And some kind of are. Miniature Pinschers, with their long legs and high center of gravity, can spring nearly three feet straight into the air. Most of the terriers can be quite agile as well.

Shih Tzus? In general, not quite so much. “Pumpernickel” in particular? Not at all!

But you have to love his spunk. From eight weeks of age, he was determined to go as high as he could go. At first, it was just the kids’ chairs, then it was the couch, then it was the dining room chairs, and then the dining room table.

Which, for this family, might not have been a bad thing. The problem was, “Pumpernickel” was always shooting higher and higher. It seemed that his main goal was to make it to the top of the refrigerator, like his kitty brother.

But unlike his feline friend, “Pumpernickel” had zero grace and aspirations far beyond his agility. Want examples?

Once he tried to leap from the bed to the window ledge—and somehow got his neck caught in the wrought iron headboard. He got out of that jam with just a chipped tooth.

Another time, he tried to make it from the baby’s changing table to the crib, and missed by about four feet. That time, it was a broken toe.

His last major “Who needs a net?” moment was when he decided that he would go from the coffee table to the sofa to the bookcase to the television.

The crash woke the whole house. While he only needed a few stitches to his ear, the television was totaled.

Again, he was brought in for a neurological examination. Was he blind? Did he have no depth perception? Was there a tumor putting pressure on the impulse control center of his brain?

Of course, the answer to all three of those questions was “No!” He just had the “Evel Knievel” gene that some little dogs are born with.

So, knowing this was all just “Pumpernickel” being “Pumpernickel,” they erected an elaborate system of doggie gates to keep him out of the dangerous rooms, bolted the new television to the wall, and went “minimalist” with the living room décor, keeping the furniture in a low Japanese style.

It worked great! Except for the fact that “Pumpernickel” became mopey. Actually, well beyond mopey. He became depressed.

A mountain goat taken away from the mountain is a very sad goat.

In another example of how, if you own a pup in a tea cup, you should probably have a handyman on speed dial, I suggested they construct an obstacle course…in their living room.

“Pumpernickel’s” owners laughed (you can see a trend here) until they realized I was oh-so-serious. Luckily, my little ones want nothing more than to sit on my lap. But my cat, Lance Flame the Wonder Cat, thinks he is a panther. And every panther needs his jungle. So in the corner of my living room, I have several cat stands put together, along with some silk “trees” to create a ceiling-high “jungle.”

Being dedicated parents—and just a little bit in love with “Pumpernickel’s” daredevil streak—they did as I suggested. It was a bit of a design challenge to keep the sleek Asian influence along with safe perches and soft landing pads, but they did it.

And “Pumpernickel” refused to use it. They tried everything. They put him up on the highest ledge. They tried putting treats on the various steps, but he wouldn’t budge.

So they brought him in to me, this time for an orthopedic exam. I diligently checked his joints, but I already knew that he wasn’t sore—he was insulted.

“If you want him to use the course, you have to scold him for getting on it.”

“But we built it for him!”

“Yes, but he needs a sense of adventure. A sense of danger—or he’s never going to do it. Go home, set him on the first step, and then tell him “bad dog!” and make him get off. If he tries to go any further, really throw a fuss.”

Dubious, and I’m sure, researching another veterinarian to take “Pumpernickel” to, they went home and did as I instructed.

Nothing happened. He went back to his bed and lay down.

Certain that I had lost my mind, they made an appointment with another vet for the next day. Someone had to figure out what was wrong with poor “Pumpernickel.”

Then, as they were watching television, he got up and sniffed around the first step. Their daughter (much more willing to accept my odd treatment plan) wagged her finger at him, “Bad dog, bad!”

He jumped to the next ledge. “No, ‘Pumpernickel.’ It’s too dangerous!”  “Oh no, you’re going to hurt yourself!” “Please, please, please come down!”

With each admonishment, “Pumpernickel” climbed higher and higher, farther and farther. Soon, he was running laps through his course, sometimes with grace, sometimes planting his nose in the pads that were there for just that purpose.

Now, if he jumps on the back of the couch, they just tell him, “Good boy, good,” and he runs over to the “forbidden” course.

“Pumpernickel” and his ‘daring display of dashing’ (don’t blame me, it’s my client’s term) are the centerpieces of their family life now. They brought back their handyman, and they now have three different configurations that can make over seventy-five new courses!

They have entire parties that are just to dare “Pumpernickel” to try the newest course!

That’s a Shih Tzu for you!

The lesson here? Sometimes, if an activity is bad for tea cup pups, they will want to do it with all their hearts. If you want them to do something “good,” you need to make it seem “bad.” The “badder,” the better!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Charmin” and Her Near-fatal Attraction to…

You Guessed It, Toilet Tissue!

Remember how I warned you to be careful of what you named your pet, because it could create trouble that you didn’t want?

“Charmin” is a perfect example. She supposedly was named for the fact that she was nothing but a big white puffball of a Maltese, and was so very squeezably soft.

Then, the first thing she did when unattended was to go into the bathroom and pull off a whole roll of tissue and rip it into little, tiny shreds.

When her mom first found “Charmin’s” handiwork, she couldn’t tell the difference between the pup and the fluff.

It was pretty cute that first time. Then in the second round, “Charmin” decided to eat some of the tissue, which usually isn’t a big deal, except that “Charmin” ate half of a roll. That half of a roll weighed more than she did.

There was a nice little vet bill to settle her tummy.

At this point we discussed, at length, the fact that “Charmin” had not learned her lesson, and we would need to keep all tissue up and away from her, keeping the bathroom doors locked.

After the third time, she ate the whole roll. She needed to stay in the hospital to make sure it passed.

Her owners were certain that “Charmin” had some kind of nutritional deficiency. Clearly, one of her organs wasn’t working properly, and she was eating the paper to make up for it. I shook my head. The problem wasn’t in “Charmin’s” liver—it was in her head!

She liked the taste! She liked the feel! She liked toilet paper, gosh darn it.

Well, the owners still took home vitamins and assured me that they would make sure that “Charmin” didn’t have access to ANY toilet paper.

It wasn’t a week before “Charmin,” tummy bulging, came back. An entire four-pack of tissue was gone. And it looked like much of it was in “Charmin’s” tummy.

This time, surgery was a definite option. How else were we going to get all that tissue out?

Luckily, I’d had a Schipperke with tissue obsession before, so I lifted “Charmin’s” tail. Sure enough, a little corner of toilet paper peeked out at me.

After a patient ten minutes of gently tugging, we got a whole foot of paper out of her. We waited, fed her a little food, and pulled another foot of tissue out.

All in all, we spent eight hours getting a total of eight feet of tissue out of “Charmin’s” booty!

Next came the call to the handyman. He installed industrial-style dispensers that had locks. Just in case she figured that out, it would only put out eight sheets every minute, giving the family plenty of time to catch her before she got the whole roll.

So it’s a little weird for guests to come over and have to be given a key to go to the restroom, but “Charmin” has been TP free for six years!

Trust me, if little dogs can cause havoc to their digestive systems and your nerves, they will do it!

Now “Charmin’s” parents thought they had the worst of it, but in this case, we are lucky our little ones, are so…little.

If you will indulge me, I’ll relate the brief tale of “Bigness” that I told “Charmin’s” mom, which made her feel just a bit better about “Charmin’s” habit.

A good friend of mine is also a veterinarian, and his Dalmatian puppy, “Mindy,” really liked his big couch in the living room. But that’s not where the dogs stayed while their dad was at work. They stayed in the laundry room with water and food and beds and a doggie door to go outside.

Well, as I said, “Mindy” really liked that front room. Which just so happened to be on the other side of the wall.

So one day she quite efficiently chewed her way through not just one piece of drywall, but the other side as well, until she made a hole big enough to get through.

My friend came home to find her curled up on the couch (she really liked that couch). At first, he was puzzled. He could have sworn that he had put her in the laundry room. And if he accidentally left her out, why wasn’t her brother “Kirby” out as well?

Then, with what is probably as big a shock as can come to an owner, he found the massive hole in the wall. And “Kirby” still on the other side of it.

Now that’s dedication! So just be glad our little guys have such little teeth! At the least, our walls are safe!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Greta”

Definitely Not Acrophobic

Another quick story of hyper-cuteness that changed a life…I had a client bring in his new puppy, “Greta Von Cutie,” and she proceeded to climb up onto his shoulder, and then sit on top of his head, over and over and over again.

Really, we couldn’t get the pup down from her perch on top of his head. The owner was of course frustrated with the wily pooch, yet when I asked how she was at the breeder, he just shrugged and said, “She did this.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Greta” had told him exactly who she was and what she liked to do right off the bat. It wasn’t “Greta’s” fault that he didn’t listen!

After I finished up the exam (with her on his head—it was the only logical choice), we discussed how we might break her of her fondness for heights. What was supercute at first was losing its appeal after the fourteen-hundredth time.

Now, “Greta” didn’t end up saving my client from brain cancer or anything. However, she did love to sit on his head. While he was watching TV, while he was typing at his computer, and at dinner parties.

After he was married, his wife told him that she fell for him the first time she saw him… at a party at his house with a Chihuahua on his head. She supposed that if he had figured out how to live life with that idiosyncrasy, he could handle any of her issues.

Score another one for “Littleness.”

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Pumpkin Pie with Whipped Cream on Top!”

Yes, that is the name of a Yorkie puppy.

And the story behind it is even better than the name!

You see, my clients went down to Mexico for Thanksgiving vacation. They had a cat, and had lost their dog about a year before, so this was the first year that they could really travel for the holiday. I had no idea at the time that they were having marital problems.

Well, while they were down there trying to “spark” the connection, they actually made the decision to break up. ...Um, until a tiny, scrawny, ragamuffin puppy trotted into the resort, and then promptly collapsed.

Oh my gosh! They knew enough to give it some Karo syrup to get its blood sugar up, but since there wasn’t a veterinarian for miles around, they decided to just jump in the car and haul his booty home to my clinic.

Now, this pup had EVERYTHING a dog could have wrong with it. Parvo, parasites, mange, kennel cough. You name it. He had it.

I warned my clients that I had no idea if I could pull the little guy through, but they wanted to try.

To make a very long medical story shorter, I helped the little guy through just about everything, and he should have been on the mend. But, he would NOT eat. I mean, we were feeding him through his vein, but he wouldn’t even tolerate force-feeding.

What were we going to do with the little guy? At some point, I needed him to well...eat!

Needless to say, the man and woman both spent hours at the clinic keeping the puppy company and begging him to eat.

I told them to take a break, go get some dinner, and come back so we could talk about our options.

They came back—and had generously brought back a piece of pumpkin pie for me. So there we were, my clients tempting the puppy with baby food, turkey, NutriCal, and everything under the sun while I munched on the dessert. I leaned over to check his catheter when, all of a sudden, he jumped up and took a HUGE bite out of my pie!

It all happened so fast. He downed the piece, and then jumped up for another one, getting a face full of whipped cream!

We all started to laugh. Little dogs will decide what little dogs want to eat. Or was it not so much what I was eating—or rather, that I was eating it off of a plate of my own?

We got another set of plates and each put “our” food (baby food, turkey, NutriCal—you know, all the stuff that the puppy wouldn’t eat a minute ago) and then pretended we were eating it.

Oh my gosh! He couldn’t get enough of it. We even “tried” to keep it away from him. No way! It was HIS!!!!

So that is how “Pumpkin Pie with Whipped Cream on Top” got his name.

And in the course of caring for the puppy, my clients somehow realized why they fell in love in the first place. A few months later, they renewed their vows...in Mexico. With “Pumpkin Pie” standing right between them!

Yep, you heard it here first. “Littleness” came to the rescue!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Penelope”– Party Girl?

Sometimes it is the client who just doesn’t understand why little dogs think they are big…well, they are little!

My clients had lost “Pugnacious,” their seventeen-year-old—yes, I said seventeen-year-old—Pug. He had been their heart and soul. They owned a small antique store, and “Pugnacious” went to work with them every day.

They had a funeral for him, and over one hundred people and their dogs showed up. A hundred. I’m not sure if I’m going to have that many.

It took them months to overcome their grief, but they finally decided they were ready and began looking again. I have to give them credit. They took all my advice—from getting a female instead of a male (to avoid the inevitable “he’s not the dog ‘Pugnacious’ was” syndrome), to waiting for exactly the right puppy.

But that’s where their unwavering faith in my advice ended. I tried, I really tried, to convince them that not every dog could handle social occasions as well as “Pugnacious.” They used to host book fairs, and “Puggy” wasn’t satisfied until he had greeted every customer in person.

I also reminded them that it had been a long, long, long time—nearly two decades—since “Puggy” had been a pup.

Well, you guessed it. On the day that they brought “Penelope” home, they threw a HUGE party for “Penelope” at the store. Again, nearly a hundred people, their pets, and their kids showed.

Balloons, punch, games of tag with little kids. They even called me to tell me “I told you so,” when the entire event went off without a hitch. “Penelope” had played and frolicked all day long without a single complaint.

They had indeed picked the perfect dog for them.

I congratulated them, but in the back of my mind, I was worried that they wouldn’t be in the clear until the next morning.

Therefore, I was not at all surprised when I got a call from the emergency clinic. Poor “Penelope” had not been feeling well, and had some serious tummy trouble.

I reassured them it was simply stress related, and that a night on IV fluids would do the trick. They were reluctant to leave their precious baby within hours of bringing her home, but they were also willing to believe me again.

The next morning, “Penelope” came by my office looking as perky and happy as ever. She had wolfed down her breakfast and was ready to go home.

Luckily, no worse for the wear.

And it turns out that “Penelope” truly was the perfect dog for them. After her “house arrest” phase, “Penelope” was slowly worked into the store’s schedule. At first an hour a day, then two, and so on until she went into work every day and delighted both her owners and their patrons.

However, she was her own dog, and they figured out that she did best if she had lunch around noon, and then took a two-hour nap in the back of the store.

So yes, in the end, they worked out their “Littleness” issues.

Now, occasionally, a pup staying home can get in trouble just as easily. And this isn’t even a little dog. This is a tale of a Labrador!

Tales from…

Well, Certainly Not the Tea Cup!

“Tyler” – the Playaholic

These clients listened to me to the letter. They found “Tyler,” the perfect Lab puppy for their family.

They did their research.

Since their other Lab, “Lizzy,” was a female, they picked a male pup. They warned their family, friends, and even their neighbors that the pup needed a few days to figure out his new home before they should visit.

Then the day came, and they brought the puppy home! How exciting. They played, and played—and played, and played. I guess they forgot the part about the “quiet” day.

They swam. They played catch. They swam some more. “Tyler” kept pace every step of the way with “Lizzy.”

Then I got the call. The pup was flat-out. He wouldn’t eat.

So even though “Tyler” was a good fifteen pounds, with a ton of roly-poly fat, he was no match for “Lizzy.” He was still just a pup. A dog foot shorter than his big sister. He had to run three steps for her one.

The fact was, “Tyler” got “played out.” No worries. Since he wasn’t small enough to fit into a tea cup, he had a little more reserve than our portable pooches, so that we didn’t even need to hospitalize him. Just some fluids under the skin to rehydrate him, and he was good to go.

I see “Tyler” all the time (allergy and ear problems—even big dogs have their health problems) and we still joke about it to this day. It seems unreal, since he now tops the scales at eighty pounds, and plays twelve hours a day with “Lizzy”—that he could ever have been tuckered out.

Section Four

Little Dogs = Big Miracles

Don’t get me wrong—dogs of all colors and sizes can affect people’s lives. Miracles happen just about any time you allow a pet into your life.

But over the past decade, as smaller and smaller dogs wiggled their way into our lives, I witnessed bigger and bigger miracles.

As we discussed in the first chapter, there is something truly special about “Littleness.”  A spark that can transform lives. A playful nudge toward happiness.

This breath of fresh air can come in many, many forms.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Mr. Wiggles” – Won’t Take ‘No’ for an Answer

“Mr. Wiggles” is the perfect example of how that indescribable difference between “Bigness” and “Littleness” can make such a huge impact.

One of my long-term clients has a daughter who has been a paraplegic since she was four. As she has gotten older, and the gravity of her situation has hit fully while in her teens, the girl has suffered from depression.

Now, all during that time she has had a service dog, either a Labrador or Golden Retriever. They were great dogs. Amazing dogs, even. They carried her books and supplies to school. They alerted her parents when she had to go the bathroom. You really couldn’t have asked for better dogs.

Well, except for “Mr. Wiggles.” You see, “Mr. Wiggles,” a pug mix, was a mistake. As their older Golden, “Percival,” was having trouble with arthritis and being retired, the foundation was going to send a new service dog.

The trainer arrived, with all seven pounds of “Mr. Wiggles.”

Where was the Golden Retriever? Or even a Border Collie?

Somehow, the paperwork had gotten confused, and “Mr. Wiggles” was supposed to be the companion dog of a young boy with epilepsy.

Just as the trainer was getting ready to leave with “Mr. Wiggles,” he jumped from the trainer’s arms, ran up to my client’s daughter, scrambled up into her bed, and started lavishing her with kisses. Right up her nose, even.

After having given up on physical therapy for months, my client’s daughter started laughing and turning her head from side to side, trying to keep her nostrils out of reach.

My client was thrilled, but more than a little horrified. The other dogs had never been allowed to jump up to bed level, let alone sit on her chest!

Worried about scratches and infections, she tried to “shoo” the dog off, but “Mr. Wiggles” had other ideas. He would jump off, run around the coffee table, and then jump right back up onto her daughter, kissing furiously, until the process started all over again.

It took her and the trainer ten minutes to catch him. But keeping him away from her daughter was another thing. He slipped his collar, jumped back up onto the bed, changed the channel on the television, and then cuddled up—as snug as a bug in a rug.

“Please, Mom, please?” her daughter asked.

Stammering, my client tried to think of every reason in the world not to keep this most impertinent Pug. But the trainer assured her that the dog had been tested and had nothing that she could give her daughter.

That’s when I got the call. How my client thought I was going to be on her side, I’m not sure, but with my vote, she was clearly outnumbered. “Mr. Wiggles” was staying.

I was happy for them. A Pug is good for everyone’s soul. I didn’t give it much thought until “Mr. Wiggles” came in for a bad tummy ache.

Now, my client had dogs for years and had always been a very straightforward, no-nonsense kind of woman, so I quickly explained that I thought “Mr. Wiggles” had pancreatitis and would need to be hospitalized for a few days.

At that point, she burst into tears. Now, this is a client who seldom would crack a smile, let alone sob. In a slight case of shock myself, I tried to console her.

“We can’t lose ‘Mr. Wiggles,’ ” she pleaded.

I explained that I felt very confident that I could cure him, but still she cried.

“You don’t understand. I’ve finally gotten my daughter back.”

When asked to explain, it turned out that “Mr. Wiggles” had basically come into the household and taken over. He wouldn’t eat unless her daughter ate. He wouldn’t go outside to do his business unless the daughter accompanied him. He wouldn’t give her kisses unless she did her physical therapy.

Better even than that, her daughter had started writing poetry again and surfing the Internet. “The light is back in her eyes. ‘Mr. Wiggles’ has to get better,” my client pleaded.

Hey, no pressure on me, though! Confident that “Mr. Wiggles” would pull through the episode, I sent her home to reassure her daughter.

The next day, when I called to give an update that “Mr. Wiggles” was progressing nicely, my client again became distraught. Her daughter had refused to eat and wouldn’t even turn her head, let alone do her vital physical therapy.

They needed “Mr. Wiggles” home, and home now. Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the Pug’s best medical interests.

I suggested that her daughter come to visit “Mr. Wiggles,” but she hadn’t been out of the house for nearly a year. “It’s too much hassle,” she would say.

Having an inkling that “Mr. Wiggles” was worth more than just a little hassle, I encouraged my client to at least give the option to her daughter.

Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, the whole family was at my doorstep. “Mr. Wiggles” enjoyed the visit, and even though he was ready to go home the next day, she visited again in the morning.

As if “Mr. Wiggles” hadn’t done enough already, his trip to the hospital changed the daughter’s life again in not just one, but two, different ways.

Now that “Mr. Wiggles” had to be on a low-fat diet, she too adopted healthier eating habits, shedding the weight she gained during her depression.

And once out of the house, she began finding all kinds of excuses why “Mr. Wiggles” would need to go out (taking her along with him). Dog parks, pet stores, or taking pictures at the mall.

With his sass and spunk, “Mr. Wiggles” truly did open up the world for my client’s daughter.

In my client’s words, “Her daughter was reborn.”

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Tinkerbell” and the Corporate Captain Hook

As you have probably already figured out, I am a HUGE proponent of adopting rescue animals. And if not rescuing a dog, I strongly urge finding a reputable breeder, and then making a donation in the sum of the purchase price to your local humane society. You know, to even the karma scale.

However, even my best clients succumb to the “impulse purchase.” But sometimes, even an impulse can create a miracle.

So one day my client picked up the kids from soccer practice and ended up at a mall to buy a baby shower present. I’m sure you can imagine the next part.

Within an hour, they walked out of the pet store with a tiny Pomeranian (supercute and even sweeter) puppy. The next day, she called me. The pup was coughing. I told her to bring the baby right in.

Sure enough, the pup had kennel cough. I took a white cell count to see if any pneumonia was brewing and a set of stool samples to check for parasites. She felt confident that the pet store would reimburse her for the care, since the symptoms presented just four hours after they left the store.

Yeah, I didn’t even bother to warn her about the tricks and traps of some contracts. She wouldn’t have believed me at this point, so I sent her home with antibiotics and the bill.

The next day I called to tell her that “Tinkerbell” did have pneumonia brewing, and a parasite called coccidian needed to be treated. Thankfully, “Tinkerbell” was doing well, eating and playing.

I asked how the pet store had reacted to the bill. She said they needed to call their corporate office to see how to handle the reimbursement.

“Awesome,” I said, pretty much knowing that on Monday I would get a very different answer, but that’s cool. “Tinkerbell” was doing great, and the bill would sort itself out.

Sometimes it’s annoying to know how tricky contracts can work (and this goes for disreputable breeders as well). On Monday, my client was told that they could return the pup for an exchange.

Of course, they were already in love with “Tinkerbell” and would never give her up. She pressed the manager of the store regarding their “health guarantee,” but they refused to pay because they had not taken the pup in for her mandatory examination within seventy-two hours.

Huh?

They were debating a bill from a veterinarian generated within sixteen hours of purchase. But it seems my exam wasn’t good enough. Only an examination by the pet store’s “official” veterinarian would do (who could not see the pup until Monday, BTW).

My client took a deep breath and said, “Fine. I’ll get my records and bring the pup to your vet to prove ‘Tinkerbell’ was sick before purchase.”

But wait, now it was over seventy-two hours—outside the time the contract stated the exam needed to be done.

At this point, my client began to see why I had shaken my head at her certainty that the store would “take care of the bill.”

Still, she tried to use logic. How could she be penalized for not getting the pet to the “official” vet when she had been told by the pet store’s manager to just wait until Monday to discuss reimbursement with the corporate office?

As you can imagine, this argument did not end the way the client hoped it would.

The good news? “Tinkerbell” went on to kick her cold and coccidian, thriving in her new home, and charming all newcomers. She’s fine. Her owner’s pocketbook, not so much, but it was all worth it.

Why? Because not only was “Tinkerbell” an awesome puppy, and the family loved her now more than ever, but she was also very attuned to my client’s son. You see, he had a condition where he would have petit mal seizures. These are seizures that don’t take over the whole body. Sometimes they show up as twitches, and sometimes the patient looks “zoned” out.

The problem with my client’s son was not that he was having too many of these seizures. As a toddler, he had learned to use his condition to his advantage. If he didn’t want to mind his parents, clean his room, or eat his asparagus, he simply looked “blank.”

His parents and doctors were having the hardest time telling when he was actually having a petit mal seizure, or just faking it to get out of chores, etc.

Then “Tinkerbell” came along. If he were truly having a seizure, she would run around him, barking and pawing at the air.

If, however, he was just faking it? “Tinkerbell” would lie down, cross her feet, and rest her head on her legs.

Let’s just say the jig was up!

Once “Tinkerbell” helped them determine which of the “seizures” were real and which were fake, they realized that he was having far fewer real seizures than they had suspected. The doctor had even been ready to put the child on medication for them!

Instead, it looked like he was growing out of the condition. Who knew how long it would have taken them to realize this fact without “Tinkerbell”?

It seems to me that all dogs, but especially small dogs, always find a way to “pay it forward!”

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Bagel Bites” – Magic Across Generations

Sometimes, the genesis of magic starts in some pretty mundane ways. A client of mine wanted a “mini” beagle puppy. A lemon-colored one.

She called to get advice on how to find a reputable breeder. I told them they needed to find a breeder who would allow them to visit not only the pups, but also the mother and father so they could check out the cleanliness of the breeder’s facility.

Taking me seriously, they started to get suspicious when the breeder never took their calls “live.” She always called them back on her cell phone. Plus, she kept coming up with excuses why they couldn’t come by to visit the parents or the pups. As a matter of fact, the breeder wanted to bring the puppy to the new parents. I, of course, shook my head at the plan.

The clients lamented that they really, really, really wanted an eight-week-old female, lemon- and white-colored beagle pup. The woman’s father had bought her one for her fifth birthday, “Dusty,” and he had recently passed away. Plus, they had a house fire when she was a teen, and they lost all their childhood pictures. She wanted a dog just like the one her father had bought her to not only be a reminder of him—but also to honor him.

How could I argue with those reasons? So I gave my blessing for them to purchase the pup as long as they were allowed to visit the pup and parents for at least fifteen minutes (rather than the usual hour or so I recommend).

The clients jumped for joy, certain they could easily arrange this. Little did they know that I’m pretty wise in the ways of breeders.

The next day I got a thankful call from the client. They had gone to the breeder’s home to find that she had over forty dogs on the premises—and they ALL bayed (and if you haven’t heard an excited beagle’s baying, you can’t fully understand how overwhelming the scene was). And they kept baying. And they bayed some more. There wasn’t a single instant of their visit that all the dogs weren’t baying.

Ears ringing, they left the breeder without a pup. Which I was quite grateful for as well. That baying in a small exam room can really get to you.

We had a long talk. Exactly how important was the beagle’s coloration? Again, for her, it was critical. Knowing her dedication to her father’s memory, I recommended that she search on the East Coast for a breeder, but reminded her to be realistic—that she might fly cross-country and still come home without a pup.

My client set out with new vigor, now understanding there was some rhyme to my reason. She found several breeders online, but none with her preferred coloration.

Defeated, she came to me. The search was over. I reminded her that there was still the old-fashioned way. Going to dog shows, asking around.

She wasn’t too encouraged until I relayed that the amount of effort that went into a puppy usually was exactly equal to the puppy’s specialness.

It took her a few weeks, but she finally was referred to an older breeder who didn’t have a website. As a matter of fact, he was retiring, and this was his last litter. Feeling that karma was on her side, she booked a flight out to see the puppy. Little did she know how much karma was working for her!

They got there, and “Bagel” was exactly what she had imagined. The perfect color. The perfect temperament. The perfect puppy.

Then she looked up and noticed a picture on the wall. It looked awfully familiar. It was her father!

Not just her father, but herself as well! With a little lemon-colored beagle puppy on their laps.

It turned out that this was the breeder her father had originally bought “Dusty” from!

That pup had been from his first litter, and “Bagel” was from his last. Once she told him the story, he of course gave her the picture as a keepsake.

She now has that picture of herself, her dad, and “Dusty” alongside a picture of her, her daughter, and “Bagel” on the mantelpiece.

Beagles over several generations brought her a little piece of her father.

If that’s not magic, I’m not sure what is.

In addition, the pup turned out to be the perfect pup for her and her family. And quiet. Very, very quiet for me.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Taz” – The Little One That Could

“Taz,” a fluffy Pom/Shih Tzu cross, has seizures. Now, you might be wondering, why in the world would Dr. McCray tell us such a sad story? I don’t want to hear about such a tragedy!

But I believe “Taz” had seizures for a very special reason. You see, “Taz’s” owner brought the fluff ball in after his first seizure. The type was very specific, so we ordered an MRI. It turned out that “Taz” had a cyst in his brain.

Cysts happen, and many times they can be benign, but other times they can be a problem. We weren’t sure which “Taz’s” was yet. As I began explaining this to my client, he became more and more pale, and then he promptly went into a seizure.

Once he came out of it, he explained that he, too, had a cyst, and that his seizures were becoming more and more uncontrollable. He had even debated getting a dog because he wasn’t sure if he would be able to take care of a pet if his seizures worsened.

He kept insisting that I didn’t understand how his condition and his dog’s condition was exactly the same. And if they followed the same course, he didn’t know if he wanted to put “Taz” through all of that.

While I couldn’t promise him a cure, I comforted him that I felt certain we could help “Taz.” Then he got home, and “Taz” seizured again. Even on meds, “Taz” seizured. It looked like “Taz” was going to be refractory and uncontrollable—just like his owner.

But I have been in this situation before. Call it what you like (and many will scoff), but people and their animals seem to be connected through a quantum channel. In my experience, more often than not, people and their pets share similar conditions.

From the mundane allergies to rare, bizarre cancers, they mirror each other. Another thing I’ve found in my experience is that beyond all of our medicine, hope is about the only thing that will help.

So we began to discuss “Taz’s” “stressors.” We found out that his owner’s boyfriend was kind of a jerk, coming home drunk late at night, waking them up, and disturbing their sleep cycle. We also found out that “Taz’s” owner’s work schedule was variable and could require long hours away from home—and was a job he didn’t even like. We also found out that there was a lot of tension in his family because they were having a hard time accepting my client’s sexual orientation.

As you might have picked up on, all of “Taz’s” stressors were the owner’s as well. In my experience, people will seldom make major life changes to decrease their stress, even if their health is suffering. But for their pets?

In short order, my client broke up with his boyfriend, found a new, better, at-home job, and stood up to his family. It wasn’t a great shock to me that “Taz’s” seizures decreased. Nor was I at all surprised when my client reported that his own seizures had been dramatically reduced. Imagine that!

I truly believe “Taz” and his brain cyst came into my client’s life to help him—to help them both. Who better to handle a seizuring dog than a client well versed in seizure management?

Not to go all epic here, but the one thing that still does amaze me is the profound link between people and their pets. The healing potential seems nearly infinite.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Fiona” – The Rescuer

I have been a veterinarian for quite a while. Well, even longer than that, but I don’t have to give specifics.

And sometimes I think I have heard it all, and that I have felt it all. That nothing, even what “Littleness” can bring, can surprise me.

Then, a little mixed-mutt pup like “Fiona” comes into my office—and right into my heart.

On the first office call after she was adopted from the shelter, I fell in love with her. Who wouldn’t? She was supercute, and somehow even super-sweeter.

But, coming from the pound, she had kennel cough, parasites, and some tummy trouble. Even though they only had “Fiona” a few hours, my client was completely dedicated to this little soul.

It took a few weeks and nearly a dozen visits, but we finally cleared up all of “Fiona’s” problems. As they were leaving the office, I kissed the pup and told her how lucky she was to have been rescued by my client.

I looked up, expecting my client to be beaming. Instead, she was misty-eyed.

“No, she rescued us.”

I knew that tragedy had struck their family a year before. They lost their beloved Cocker Spaniel, “Sprinkles,” and then not a month later, their son was killed in a car accident.

However, I didn’t know how badly those tragedies had torn the family apart. They were headed for divorce. The papers were drawn up, and the lawyers’ fees paid.

Then “Fiona” came into their lives.

Her spark. Her love. Her determination to dig a hole in the couch. All brought joy back into the house.

Instead of fighting, my clients found themselves laughing. They began to remember what it was like to find happiness in the little things. In the little moments.

Within just a few weeks, “Fiona’s” antics and “Littleness” helped heal months of heartbreak.

Am I crediting the puppy with saving a marriage? No.

My clients are!

The magic of connection, bringing people out of their shells and back into the world, is just one of the many, many, many miracles of “Littleness!”

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Frick” and “Frack”: It Took Two to Pull Off This Miracle!

For the New Year, I thought I would tell you a tale of...two mutts.

Who knew that they would possibly save the life of one of my clients?

You see, my client had lost her cat, and had decided to not to replace her beloved feline. She and her husband were retired and really looking forward to traveling.

They had dreamed for decades about heading to Europe, Alaska, and Costa Rica. The farther away, the better. They wanted to stay for weeks at a time, really immersing themselves in the culture.

When she came back to pick up her kitty’s ashes, we said what we both thought would be our final good-bye.

Um...yeah...until later that day.

My client went to spread her cat’s ashes at a nearby beach when she heard whimpering from some bushes. There were two tiny puppies! They were skinny, filthy, and starving!

Of course, she rushed them to me.

And oh boy, did they have a LOT of health problems, but oh boy, were they cute!!! They were some kind of poodle, Shih Tzu, and Heinz 57 kind of puppy. All fluffy on the head and all wiry everywhere else—with little short noses, but long ears.

I started to go over our options, but I didn’t even get Humane Society out of my mouth when she said she would take full responsibility, and at the least, foster the pups until they were adoptable.

For once, I actually thought this client meant it. I mean, I had been hearing for years about these elaborate vacations. They had brochures. They had travel insurance already purchased. They were serious. I fully expected to find those pups another forever home.

So my client went home with the two pups and about twelve different medications (and several cans of food). But every day was a new problem...with both of them.

Seriously, it was if these two pups shared one body. If one sneezed, the other one sneezed. If one stopped eating, the other stopped eating. They walked in step. They played exactly the same. They came whenever the other was called.

So you can see how easy it was to name them “Frick” and “Frack.”

Then days turned into weeks.

These pups needed a LOT of care and attention, but my client’s first big trip to China was coming up. They had scant days before they had to decide to cancel the trip and eat the cost, (the insurance covered a lot of contingencies, but not supercute and fragile pups) or find the pups a new home.

My client’s husband then started feeling a little ringing in his ears. He playfully blamed it on the pups’ constant yipping. But they saw it as a perfect opportunity to have him checked by the doctor. Maybe if he had an ear infection, they would have a medical reason to cancel the trip and have it covered by the insurance.

Well, thank goodness he went to the doctor! That ringing wasn’t an infection, but a tumor on the bones in his ear!

Luckily, it was caught early enough that they were able to do surgery to save not only his life, but his hearing as well!

If it hadn’t been for those pups, and both of them wanting to stay home to care for them, my client may have ended up in a foreign country needing delicate, intricate microscopic cancer surgery! The doctors even said that had it gone on much longer, it could have broken through into his brain cavity!

So yes, “Frick” and “Frack” (who recovered as well as their owner did) possibly saved his life!

And even better yet, after the surgery and radiation therapy, my clients decided that they still wanted to travel! But this time, in an RV.

Now they and “Frick” and “Frack” cruise around the U.S., getting to know our country’s culture inside and out.

I get postcards from them several times a year. Each time with “Frick” and “Frack” sitting side by side, next to my client and her husband, with a national monument as a backdrop.

They could not look any happier.

Life seldom turns out how you plan it (even decades in advance) but it feels like when you let animals into your heart, it turns out just fine! :-)

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Chi-Chi” – The Pekingese???

Yes, that was my reaction too, when I first met “Chi-Chi.”

I expected a cute little Chihuahua when I walked into the room. I mean, I didn’t even check the chart first to see what breed she was.

What I found was a black and white mop. Matted, but oh so friendly. Even though she had eaten a paper clip.

It was lodged in her intestine, and the owners decided not to treat.

What???

Well, as you can imagine, we couldn’t let that happen. So “Chi-Chi” was turned over to the clinic, and we of course took care of the problem.

Now that could have been the end of the story. A poor, misnamed Pekingese rescued from a bad home, but that was just the beginning.

Just when we were starting to look for a new home for “Chi-Chi,” one of my staff comes in with her elderly grandmother. Grams was eighty-seven years old, and did not understand why everyone was fussing over her and not wanting to let her drive.

Her license had been suspended, but that didn’t stop Grams. They hid her keys and Gram just hired a locksmith to come out and make new keys.

But when Grams walked in and saw “Chi-Chi,” it was love at first sight! Once “Chi-Chi” was out of the cage, she ran right over, jumped in Grams’ lap, and curled up.

Luckily, I knew of the situation, so when the notion of Grams adopting “Chi-Chi” came up, I approved it, but only on one condition. “Chi-Chi” had to go wherever Grams went... and had to sit in Grams’ lap.

Of course, of course. I looked at my receptionist and winked. Problem solved. How could Grams drive if she had to take care of “Chi-Chi”???

Now, if Grams needs groceries, she just calls one of her kids or grandkids, and they come and pick Grams and “Chi-Chi” up and drive them to the store, because, after all, “Chi-Chi” had come from a bad environment and needed that ‘extra’ care.

“Littleness,” once again, comes to the rescue!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Tumbler” – Tumbled Right into Our Hearts

“Tumbler,” a playful Lhasa Apso, well...tumbled into my client’s life.

They had lost their beloved German shepherd, Dixie, several months before, and had sworn off dogs. It had just hurt too much to lose her, and besides, life was busy.

But not always in the good way. They had a child with significant health issues, which meant Mom had to quit work and not only care for their son, but get to and from the myriad of doctor’s appointments, etc.

They had a cat. They loved the cat. That was enough.

As any of you who are reading this guessed, it wasn’t enough—not by far.

Fate forced Mom to go to the shelter to help find a friend’s dog. Joyfully, that dog was found and returned home, but in the same run was a fluffy little Lhasa who insisted on doing strange somersaults. She asked what was wrong, but the shelter didn’t know, and they couldn’t afford to pay for the vet bills to find out.

Okay, Mom had sworn off dogs, but she couldn’t let this little one be “redlined.” So despite her better judgment, she adopted the ten-month-old puppy. About fifteen minutes later, she was in my office.

While the puppy did appear to have a penchant for doing a forward roll and then busting out some break-dancing moves, he seemed perfectly healthy. We would run some lab work, but I thought the pup was in good shape—but just strangely playful.

But what was she going to do? Mom didn’t want a dog, let alone a weird little one. I reassured her that we could find the dog a home, since it was free of any parasites or diseases, so why didn’t she take “Tumbler” home just for one night while I tried to find a foster home?

Now, of course, I saw the universe’s work in “Tumbler,” and of course, I knew if that little one made it to her house, it would be “Tumbler’s” home, but I was going to let Mom figure that out for herself!

I was a little worried, however, when Mom and “Tumbler” were at my door at 8:00 a.m. the next day.

Had I missed something? I had. Exactly how much this little dog was going to change my client’s life.

It turns out that as soon as they got home, “Tumbler” did his little routine. Their son, who had been too ill to run or play, got off the couch and started mimicking Tumbler’s routine. What a sight!

Then it was time to go to the pediatrician. The child balked. He hated it. He hated taking his medication. He hated getting poked.

But what if “Tumbler” came along? The boy brightened. Mom thought she could hide the dog in her purse, but as soon as they got to the office, her son began telling the other kids about “Tumbler.” Everybody had to see.

While the nurses were reluctant to have a dog in the waiting room, they had never seen my client’s son so happy and interactive.

The entire doctor’s exam, the boy chatted on about the new puppy. This pediatrician must have had kids and dogs too, because he informed the child that if he wanted to be able to bring “Tumbler” in, he had to take all of his medication—AND do all of his physical therapy.

Of course!

So there Mom was, on my doorstep at 8:00 a.m. hugging me and telling me about “Tumbler” and her tumbling son. She also wanted to make sure that I had taken “Tumbler’s” adoption picture down. I laughed, and told her I had never put it up. #duh

You would think that after being in veterinary medicine for over thirty years, I would tire of such stories. I am here to tell you, I haven’t—and I don’t think I ever will.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Tootsie Pop”: Tougher than a Rattlesnake Bite?

I could (and usually do) wax poetic about what troupers dogs are. I mean, their resilience, especially puppies, is pretty freaking incredible.

But terriers? Holy cow. They were bred for tenacity. Like, “Why don’t you go into that badger’s den for me?” kind of tenacity.

So it is no surprise when a terrier beats all odds to survive.

I am not going to relate in depth the trauma that “Tootsie Pop” went through. She got that name because she was all hard and tough on the outside, chasing squirrels and taking on Great Danes, yet yummy and soft on the inside. She won Best Kisser on her block for five years running.

Let’s just say that the rattlesnake was a little more than she had expected to take on.

And poor “Tootsie Pop” had every known complication you can imagine. But did she give up?

Heck, no! She was hooked up to two IV lines and fourteen medications. She was being fed through a tube, and she had the audacity to bark at the hospital cat (I mean, she may have been on the injured reserve list, but that didn’t mean that she had to put up with cats! #Imean #getreal).

I can’t tell you how many times I warned her mommy that we may need to say good-bye to “Tootsie Pop.” But her mommy just smiled and shook her head.

Nope. “Tootsie Pop” would make it. Mommy would come and sit for hours with “Tootsie Pop,” sometimes when the terrier was barely clinging to consciousness, and tell her all the bad things that the squirrels were doing in the backyard.

And how the neighborhood possum was starting to dig around their woodpile (which, according to “Tootsie Pop,” was sacrilege).

This was early in my career, and my training told me that poor Mommy was just in denial, but luckily, my heart could see that this owner knew more than my medical tests did. Seeing “Tootsie Pop’s” crazy, wiry hair and those determined eyes, I, too, knew that a stupid rattlesnake bite to the jugular wasn’t going to get her!

Seven days later, “Tootsie Pop” trotted out of the clinic, bandaged and without the usual spring in her step, but she trotted, nonetheless.

“Tootsie Pop” taught me such a valuable lesson.

No matter the circumstances, hope can be as powerful a medicine as any injections I might have.

Tales from the Tea Cup?

BIGNESS ALERT:

“Ali” – A Dog with Lots of “Heart!”

Okay, yes, I know this book is called Pups in Tea Cups, and I am, in theory, supposed to talk about “Littleness” 24-7. However, sometimes a true underdog comes into my life, and I just have to share his or her inspiring story about “Bigness.”

When I first met “Ali,” it was a difficult time for him. He had been dumped at the shelter (at ten years old), and then adopted, but he kept “fainting.”

Anyone who knows Boxers knows that this isn’t a good sign.

Each time he got excited (especially at a niece’s birthday party), he would fall over.

Between my testing and the cardiologist’s verdict, it looked as though “Ali” may only have a few weeks left. After talking to his new parents and giving my “honored to have been a part of this animal’s life” speech, they decided to give him the best few weeks he could have.

Then, a month later, they called me. His fainting spells had stopped. They brought him in. Sure enough, he still had the heart problem, but he had somehow medically stabilized.

We thought that was the only miracle “Ali” had up his sleeve. Boy, were we wrong.

Months later, they were at the dog park, and two unleashed Pit Bulls jumped the fence and headed straight for my client’s young daughter. “Ali” didn’t hesitate. He ran between them—and got attacked for it.

My clients were distraught. They loved him for protecting their daughter, but knew this had to be the end for “Ali.” Either the fight, or the stress, would take him.

But no!

Not only did he not faint, he survived the attack! They rushed him in to me.

After washing the blood off of him...it turned out NOT to be his! There wasn’t a single scratch on him. He was busy wagging his tail and looking for treats!

Even with his fragile heart, he won the fight! Now, that’s our “Ali.”

We have no idea how much longer he will be with us, but he proved beyond a shadow of a doubt why he was meant to enter our lives. He quite possibly saved their daughter.

So, here’s to “Ali!”

He showed us that even with a damaged ticker, you can still show heart! #lovehim #bignesstotherescue

Tales from the Tea Cup:

Christmas – A Season of Miracles

I know this book is called Pups in Tea Cups and that I have already wandered off into tales of “Bigness,” but this next story had such a profound impact on my life that I just had to share it with you. However, I must warn you that this is a TEN-hanky alert.

I have been lucky enough to have witnessed so many miracles involving animals— Christmas and otherwise—but I thought I would share one during this season that is near and dear to my heart.

Years ago, a veterinary assistant and good friend of mine was in a bad car accident with her sister. Her sister came away with a broken wrist and sprained ankle, but my friend had been thrown from the car.

Even when the police and EMTs arrived, they simply couldn’t find my friend. It was a cold Christmas Eve, with snow on the ground, and everyone knew that if they did not find her soon (since it was clear that she must have, at the very least, been unconscious or unable to respond to the rescue team) we could lose her.

Everyone was combing the thickly wooded area when my friend’s sister heard the tiniest mewing. While she wasn’t in the animal field, she had been around her sister enough to know that it was a newborn’s cry.

So, even though the cry was coming from the opposite direction her sister should have landed from the accident, she simply couldn’t let a baby kitten die of the cold.

But when she followed the sound, she found a tiny, white kitten curled up with her sister!

Somehow, the kitten had found her! She was named “Christmas Miracle” right there on the spot (although we usually call her “Chrissy” for short).

They rushed my unconscious friend to the hospital for emergency surgery as I got the call about the kitten. Even though the hospital staff was reluctant, after they heard the story, they allowed me to try to treat the kitten in their waiting room.

With my friend’s entire family (she was Catholic, so there were A LOT of family members) gathered around, expressing their love and appreciation that the little baby kitten was cared for. But, sadly, no matter how hard I tried to save “Chrissy’s” pure soul, she faded. You would have thought that it would have been sad, but it was so joyous.

We all sensed that the little creature’s singular purpose was to come down, save my friend, and then be called home. Tears flowed, but in gratitude (as they are right now as I write this).

When my friend awoke from surgery, we told her the miraculous story of a kitten that lived less than twelve hours, yet had saved her life.

However, she wasn’t shocked in the least. As a matter of fact, in her traumatized haze, she had heard that kitten’s cry—and thought it was God letting her know everything was going to be all right. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she said she wasn’t scared.

That was over fifteen years ago. Now my friend and I live states apart and seldom see one another. She has gone on to become a registered tech and a mom. I get a Christmas card from her each year, and each and every year, there is a tiny note at the bottom...

“With ever loving thanks to ‘Chrissy.’ ”

And each and every year, I cry, remembering that little white ball of fluff and how she saved my friend’s life.

Even though I only knew you for a few short hours, I won’t ever forget you, either, “Chrissy.” That, I can promise you.

Section Five:

Simply Silly Tales

So far, we have covered how “Littleness” affects nearly every aspect of our pups in tea cups’ lives—from how we feed them to how they can perch on our heads. We’ve also seen the miracles that they can bring into our lives.

I thought it was time to bring in a little silliness! And when I say “little,” I actually mean a LOT of silliness! Enjoy!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Petar” – To Crate or Not to Crate?

“Petar” is a Pekingese. Not just any Pekingese, but a Pekingese from a line descended from Emperors. No, really. An Emperor once owned his line. And boy, did he know it!

As you can imagine, he leveraged his heritage in every way possible. One of the first was to convince his owners that crates were evil, evil places—and that he was “un-crateable.”

Unfortunately, “Petar” housebroke super-easy, so his owners really didn’t see the need to crate-train. I tried my best to convince them, but alas, “Petar” was descended from Emperors, and I couldn’t compete with that logic!

Years went by, and while there were times the owners wished that he could be crate-trained, “Petar” would throw an Imperial-sized tantrum, and they would back off.

Then the day came when “Petar” started coughing. After x-rays and such, I diagnosed a very serious disease—heartworms. “Petar” was normally on preventative medication, but he had stayed with their in-laws, who had forgotten to give him his medication.

They were stricken. Heartworm disease is very dangerous, and can be life threatening. It can also be cured, but after treatment, the animal must be strictly rested, and I mean strictly rested for six weeks. If they are too active, it can be very serious. Or even in the most extreme cases, fatal.

Crate training is an essential, vital component to treating for heartworm disease, yet “Petar’s” owners were terrified. If they could not do it before, how in the world could they do it now, under such tight time constraints?

You see, it was Friday, and we were going to start the treatment on Monday, which gave them the weekend to crate-train “Petar.”

But how were they going to do it?

I told them that the first thing they needed to do was realize that “Petar’s” life depended on their ability to crate-train him.

They needed to be completely, 1,000 percent resolved that crating was going to work. They could harbor no doubt, and no hesitation.

The more resolved owners are, the easier the crate training will be.

They squared their shoulders and went home.

I expected a call over the weekend telling me the attempt was doomed, but heard nothing until they showed up on Monday morning—with “Petar” in his crate!

He was perfectly content on his tiger-striped bedding with a chew toy, gnawing away.

Luckily, “Petar’s” owners had taken my advice. They put everything that the little Pekingese loved into the crate. They made him eat in there. They loved him in there. They made the crate the center of their home life.

After about a ten-minute tantrum (they never made it past the five-minute mark in the past), “Petar” settled down and figured he might as well chew on his toy if he was stuck in the cage. The rest is history.

Now, I certainly hope you never run into this scary a situation with your pet, but how could “Petar’s” family have known that they would go on vacation, their in-laws would forget his medication, and he would be bitten by a mosquito harboring heartworm larvae?

Most times that we medically need to treat are not this extreme, but are still vital to the healing process. Surprisingly, sometimes the ill animal needs to be out with the family, but the more rambunctious ones need to be crated to keep them from hurting the other animals.

There are honestly a million reasons why crate training is the easiest way to help our four-legged loved ones.

Another aspect of “Petar’s” story is important as well. It is the issue of resolve. My strong belief is that if “Petar’s” owners had that type of resolve the first time around, “Petar” would have been crate-trained nine years ago.

The more you believe something, the more likely your dog is going to buy into the crate training as well.

And BTW, “Petar” sailed through his treatment. Not even a fever. He spent his six weeks in his crate like a champ.

Once I released him to limited exercise, his owners asked if they still needed the crate (they still had a negative connotation to the crate as something that reminded them of the dangerous and scary treatment protocol).

I said, “You know what? Let’s just keep it up for a few more weeks, in case ‘Petar’ gets a cough.”

Begrudgingly, they agreed.

To their shock (not mine, but that’s to be expected), “Petar” now preferred to take naps in the crate. He really liked going into the crate when the grandkids came over. And that pesky cat, Cleopatra (yes, an Egyptian Sphinx)? When she was acting up, “Petar” would head to his crate and hole up there until Cleo calmed down.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Cecil” and his Near (Actually Pretty Far Away from) Death Experience

I had another client who used to have Chesapeake Bay Retrievers. They would do their “business” in the ivy patch. It was perfect. The poopies acted as fertilizer, and the foliage covered up the unattractive doody.

Then “Cecil” the Puggle, a Pug/Beagle cross, came along. Go in the ivy? Are you kidding me? There are bugs and spiders and insects in there!

The first day that they brought “Cecil” home, they followed my advice and went straight over to the area they felt was best suited for “Cecil” to do his business, the famed ivy patch, and put their little baby down.

He promptly screamed, jumped straight up into the air, and ran into the house. They rushed him into the office, afraid that a bee had stung him.

I checked him out from stem to stern and found nothing wrong. They kept telling me how odd his behavior was and how high-pitched the scream. There had to be a stinger somewhere. Or…I suggested he was just afraid of the ivy.

Maybe they could try another area of the yard, but they were very resistant. The ivy was perfect. The gardener didn’t complain about the mess, and they didn’t have to worry about the kids stepping in the poop on the lawn.

I warned them that I thought “Cecil” was ivy-averse, but wished them the best of luck.

So, after another half dozen failed attempts at training in the ivy patch, they brought “Cecil” back in. Clearly, he had a neurological disorder (catching this pattern?). Clearly, he was having mini-seizures. Clearly, he was allergic to the outside world.

They lamented they would never be able to housebreak him (which, let’s be clear, was an unintended but added bonus for “Cecil.” He hadn’t planned it that way, but he’d take it)!

After another, more thorough exam (checking light reflexes in the eyes, making sure his facial nerve responses were normal), I suggested, again, that they just go over to the other side of the yard, where there was lawn.

Certain that I was the one with neurological problems, “Cecil’s” owners went home and, before going to a specialist, decided to try this crazy suggestion to put “Cecil” down on the grass.

They were ready for anything—except him nicely squatting and peeing right then and there.

As a test, they tried to take him over to the ivy, but he started squirming and whining before they got within ten feet of the patch.

While he might not have been allergic, he was in fact ivy-averse! Which, in my line of work, I actually diagnose far more frequently than true neurological disorders!

Clearly, in the world of Puggles, ivy is a harbinger or evil, to be avoided at all costs.

As an epilogue, “Cecil’s” distrust of the ivy was lifelong. No matter that the kids would run around in there. No matter that ten years had passed, and nothing evil had crawled out from under the green leaves, “Cecil” always gave that patch a wide berth.

So wide a berth that when a new Schnorkie (Schnauzer/Yorkie) puppy, “Delilah,” came to live with them, he refused to let her use the ivy patch, either.

They were hoping that “Delilah” would take to the ivy and finally convince “Cecil” that it wasn’t so bad.

Unfortunately, that first day, when they tried to put this new precious little puppy in the ivy, “Cecil” freaked out, ran into the ivy (how brave is that?), and grabbed a very startled “Delilah” by the nape of the neck—and carried her right out of there!

Were their parents crazy? Offering a sacrifice like that to the evil ivy patch?

From then on, “Delilah” avoided the area like the plague as well. And when it was her turn to train a new puppy, she too took a firm stand against the vines!

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Diva” – Housebreaking? Not!

Over the past three decades, I have given a lot of housebreaking advice. And I thought I had heard it all. Each permutation of every trick of every puppy that ever tried to fight housebreaking.

I thought I had heard every excuse, rationale, and obfuscation of every owner resisting doing the work needed to housebreak a stubborn puppy.

Boy, was I wrong.

“Diva,” the cutest ever mini-Cocker Spaniel puppy, and her owners, surprised even me.

Which is funny, because her owners were really good clients. They really listened and took my advice consistently. That is, when they had Australian Shepherds.

Then, like many, many clients these days, after losing their precious friends, they decided to get a smaller dog. A dog that could easily travel with them. A mini-Cocker.

I tried to warn them—I really did. I told them how much tougher a two-pound puppy is to train than a herding dog. They, of course, scoffed. Their dogs were field-trained. Working dogs. Herding dogs.

So at their first appointment, in which they were already over the moon and gaga over “Diva,” I did my best to describe the crate-training/housebreaking technique, although I do admit that they probably didn’t hear much of it over all the kisses and nose snuggles they were doing with “Diva.”

Back they came in two weeks for “Diva’s” next visit for vaccines. I asked how everything was going. “Great!” was the answer. Then I asked about housebreaking.

Eyes darted. Cheeks got red. Mumbling occurred.

“Okay, out with it,” I said.

They then admitted that the pup was not housebroken at all. She went wherever she wanted.

I asked about the crate training.

Again, blushes and stammering. Turns out they hadn’t even bought one.

Shaking my head, I told them it was their call. If they didn’t mind “Diva” doing her business all over the house, I was cool if they were cool.

But, of course, they weren’t cool. They had worked hard to build a nice home, and they were big entertainers, having dinner parties at least twice a month.

Accidents were definitely putting a crimp in their style.

So I reiterated the technique, and they solemnly swore to try it with consistency and patience.

Two weeks passed, and “Diva” was due for more vaccines. I didn’t even have to ask the questions before their teenage daughter burst out, “She hates the crate. She just screams. It’s cruel!”

Everyone was distraught. The mom, the daughter, and the dad (which, of course, was exactly what “Diva” was shooting for!).

Wasn’t there any way, any way at all, to housebreak without the crate? “Of course there was,” I told them. “It just takes even more vigilance.”

They swore they could do it. They would do anything to avoid the crate. They left, and two weeks later, everyone seemed so happy! They had done it! “Diva” was potty-trained!

I have to admit, I was shocked. Seldom does the non-crate training method work, especially after the puppy has had so many accidents. But I congratulated them and thought “Diva’s” tale was over.

We had several more visits, and everything seemed fine. Then the last appointment for “Diva’s” rabies shots came. Only the mom came in. Her daughter’s high school had started again, and her husband’s job had him back out on the road.

After a nice chat, I talked to her about “Diva’s” spay surgery and implanting the microchip, when my client burst into tears.

Assuming she was afraid of the surgery, I began comforting her, reassuring her that “Diva’s” risk was so slight. Just a fraction of a percent of danger, but she kept crying.

Finally, she sobbed out that “Diva” had taken over her life. She couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t go anywhere. Couldn’t have anyone over.

Confused, I asked her what she was talking about. “Diva” was housebroken, right?

She finally admitted they hadn’t really housebroken “Diva” as much as trained themselves to stop her accidents.

What? I didn’t understand.

It turns out that the whole family would walk around with potty pads in their pockets, and when “Diva” squatted, they would rush over and put a pad under her!

Talk about royal treatment!

Oh my gosh! How did “Diva” get so lucky?

My client relayed that the process was a pain in the butt, and time consuming, but with all three of them home over the summer it seemed the best course of action, since “Diva” had convinced them housebreaking wasn’t for her.

But now that it was just my poor client at home alone with the puppy, the ritual was sucking the life from her.

I could understand. Her life had become about following a puppy around, waiting to put a pad down for her to go on!

Talk about the antithesis of housebreaking!

First, I had to give credit to “Diva.” She was working it. And working it well. She had convinced three otherwise completely sane and logical people that following her around with a potty pad made the most sense.

That’s got to go into the “Littleness” hall of fame!

After having a good laugh, I asked her if she was ready to crate-train. Of course she was, but she was worried about her daughter. “Diva” had clearly wrapped the girl around her little finger, and they would become hysterical with the screaming and whining. And that was just the daughter!

I suggested that she send her daughter out on a weekend sleepover and get to work. My clients were nervous. They let “Diva” get away with this behavior for over four months!  How could she change it in just two days?

I agreed. Her daughter needed to go straight over to her friend’s house after school on Friday. This was going to take three days.

My client was still exasperated. One more day wasn’t going to help. One more week wasn’t going to help.

Shaking my head, I couldn’t disagree more. It really had little to do with time and more to do with determination. If she could just convince “Diva” that she was serious, this would go smoothly (after the prerequisite screamfest, that is).

She just needed that extra day to steel herself. The more convinced she became, the quicker that this would work.

By the time she left, I’m not sure she was totally sold on the idea, but she was definitely sick of chasing after “Diva” with a plastic-lined potty pad all day long.

I wasn’t at all surprised when she came in on Saturday morning. She and the puppy had gotten no sleep. She had tried everything I told her (except the part where she was convinced it was going to work) and the pup still wouldn’t tolerate being crated.

I asked how long she had left the pup in the crate.

Five whole minutes!

You have to give “Diva” credit again. She was working her little dog mind-control magic.

There are times when earphones come in really, really handy. I sent my client home to put in a pair, and she was not allowed to let “Diva” out until she stopped crying.

I told my client to pick out her favorite movie and sit down and watch it with earphones.

But she shook her head. She hadn’t been able to sit down and relax for that long since the puppy came home.

I reminded her that the puppy was in her crate. No chance for accidents. It was okay for her to relax.

It was like a light bulb went off. For the first time, she remembered what life was like before she assigned herself to potty-pad patrol.

She started to cry, but this time with joy.

“I can get my life back.”

“Yeah, that’s what housebreaking is all about,” I assured her. It wasn’t torture. It wasn’t even inconvenient, really. It was a down payment on years of freedom, really.

I could see it in her eyes. This time, it was going to work.

So I wasn’t surprised when she called me the next day and asked me to “Listen!”

I listened. Nothing.

Not nothing. It was something incredible! The perfect silence of a puppy sleeping in her crate!

As a matter of fact, “Diva” was doing so well that my client was going out to brunch!

It turns out that “Diva” loved her crate. She also loved going outside. She also loved walks. She also loved not being shadowed constantly by a strange human with a potty pad.

She began playing more. Tearing through the house, playing games of “tag” and “capture the flag.”

Even her daughter had to admit how much happier “Diva” was, now that she was not only housebroken, but crate-trained as well.

It opened up everyone’s world.

Tales from the Tea Cup:

“Gazpacho” – The Master of Mind Control

I knew Chihuahuas were manipulative, and I thought “Chief” particularly gifted with his powers of mind control.

You know, the times when I was walking across the room, telling him that he couldn’t control me with his mind, only to realize that I was taking him outside, just as he had asked! Those mind-control powers.

But I met another Chihuahua with possibly even greater powers.

“Gazpacho!”

She was so cute and sweet in the room. She had a broken tooth that we needed to fix, but besides that, everything was great!

Except, I kept forgetting to write down her orders! My poor tech kept saying...

“Dr. McCray, didn’t you want to give ‘Gazpacho’ an antibiotic injection?”

Why, yes, of course!

Then, two minutes later...“Weren’t we going to do a heartworm test?”

Why, yes, of course. We need to!

This went on and on. Everything I had said I wanted to do in the room whisked away from my mind.

I apologized to “Gazpacho’s” mom. “I am not usually forgetful like this! I am so sorry!”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. ‘Gazpacho’ has incredible mind-control powers!”

Both my tech and I started to laugh. We talked about “Chief’s” mind-control powers all the time.

Once I knew what I was dealing with, I combatted “Gazpacho’s” hazing of my memory. As hard as she tried, though, she still got all the medicine she needed!

Now I know to guard myself (and have my tech take PLENTY of notes) whenever “Gazpacho’s” around.

Tales from the Tea Cup

“Rambo” – Fashion Icon? Yep.

You see, my clients couldn’t decide on a name for their new Boston Terrier. They wrangled over names like “Twerp,” “Jazzy,” and “Pete.” But nothing would stick. And he wouldn’t answer to any of them.

Now, it wasn’t like “Rambo” didn’t have enough personality. He had TOO much. As a matter of fact, one of his favorite things to do was to pick out his outfit for the day.

And yes, he was macho enough to pull off a pink sweater occasionally!

But the one that was his favorite was...you guessed it—a red headband and leather pants.

So one day, he came in for some vaccines—dressed up as I described. Well, some of my other clients weren’t as understanding, and laughed at him.

Well, he barked right back!

In that moment, we knew we had a true “Rambo” on our hands!

# # #

Afterword

Thank you so much for allowing me to share these amazing stories of “Littleness” and what a BIG impact our pups can have on our lives.

If you loved reading Pups in Tea Cups as much as I loved writing it, I would ask a favor of you…please go back to Amazon and review Pups. We authors live and die by our reviews!

Also if you have a story to share that you think would make a great entry in the next book, please email the author here. Even if it doesn’t make it into the book, I love to read a good dog story!

Volume II of Pups in Tea Cups should be out in the summer of 2013, so be watching for it!

In the meanwhile you might want to check out some of Carolyn’s other work in the next section…

Other Works by Carolyn McCray

If you loved the silly antics of the pups in Pups in Tea Cups, then you'll laugh out loud reading Pet Whisperer...er...rrrrr.

Wyatt and animals...don’t always see eye to eye. But that doesn’t mean he can’t make a rip-snorting pet psychic, right? I mean, seriously. What could possibly go wrong? Other than an elephant with a wandering trunk and a ferret that likes to dance around inside his pants, that is.

Oh, and the serial-killer Chihuahua.

Okay, so maybe a lot could go wrong.

Pet Whisperer...er...rrrrr: A book where the animals talk back!

To purchase or sample Pet Whisperer…er…rrr simply click here!

* * *

If the pups stole your heart in Pups in Tea Cups, you'll want to read a sweet tale about two lovebirds in 8 Hearts Beat As One.

Love Birds? is a Pet Whisperer...er...rrr short story.

Can Wyatt rekindle the love between two dueling lovebirds on Valentine's Day? And still make his three dates?

In addition to Love Birds? Are seven other tales of romance. Some are sweet. Some are spicy. All are fantastic!

To sample or purchase 8 Hearts Beat As One, simply click here.

* * *

Thought Fiona saving a marriage was romantic in Pups in Tea Cups? Then you'll love the mischief Hurricane and Fury create in Indian Moon.

Although Indian Moon has a far more serious tone than Pups, and tackles difficult situations and hard themes, it is real romance…for the rest of us.

Read on to see why:

"I love this story..it's so touching, beautiful & fulfilling. Thank you Ms McCray for sharing such a beautiful love story.”

Luv2Read

"I love romances that are "real" and this one is so very real. The characters are not larger than life, they have pasts, things they regret and dreams they have forgotten. They are real everyday people with everyday problems...I loved this book, it was beautiful, sweet, sad in places and oh ever touching, watching the changes that true love brings to their outlook on life."

Dreamsgate

To purchase or sample Indian Moon simply click here.

* * *

Still want more pups? Then you won't want to miss the white wolf, Pale in 7 Folds of Winter.

Told in the fashion of the fantasy masters Robert Jordan and George R.R. Martin, this YA Epic fantasy, 7 Folds of Winter has been described as “a fresh breeze into the high fantasy annals” and “a beautiful balance between action and sweetness, the clash of steel and the tenderness of the heart.”

Appealing to the young and young at heart reader, 7 Folds of Winter is filled with heroism from both the humans and their animal companions!

To purchase or sample 7 Folds of Winter simply click here!

Medical Disclaimer

(You knew there had to be one)

Pups in Tea Cups has been written for ENTERTAINMENT purposes ONLY. Even though I describe some of my medical philosophy and treatments/advice/techniques recommended to clients and their pets, in no way should you take this to be a recommendation for your pet or household.

If you have any problems with your pup/pets/family, please consult the appropriate medical professional. The advice given in this book was specific to those particular situations and should NOT be used for your situation.

Onward to the legalese…

The information provided in this book should not be construed as veterinary medical advice or instruction. No action should be taken based solely on the contents of this book.

The information and opinions provided here are believed to be accurate and sound, based on the best judgment available to the author, but readers who fail to consult appropriate health authorities assume the any risk. This book/author/publisher is not responsible for errors or omissions.

Furthermore, information contained in this book is intended as ENTERTAINMENT ONLY. This book in no way replaced the need for services provided by medical professionals or independent determinations.

A person’s individual veterinarian must determine what is safe and effective for each individual situation, person, or pet. The publisher and author do not assume any responsibility or risk for the use of any information contained within this book.

The author provides no endorsement of and is not responsible for the accuracy or reliability of any opinion, advice, or statement made within this book. The author and publisher are not liable for any loss or damage caused by the reader’s reliance on the information provided.

Please seek the advice of a veterinary medical professional to properly evaluate the accuracy, comprehensiveness, and utility of any information, opinion, advice, or other content within the book.

Furthermore, reference to other third-party material and links to other websites does not mean that the author or publisher endorses the materials or linked websites. The author and publisher are not responsible for any content that appears in these materials or on these linked websites.

Copyright Information

This book is a work of nonfiction. The people, incidents, places, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s real-life experiences. In each case, the privacy of the individuals has been protected.

PUPS IN TEA CUPS

An Off Our Meds Project/published by arrangement with the author

FIRST EDITION

Copyright 2011 by Carolyn McCray

All rights reserved

Kindle Edition

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Any inquiries can be made to:

3524 South Star Lake Road

Auburn, Washington 98001

Or check out my Contact Information page…

Contact Information

Carolyn McCray can be found just about everywhere social media exists (and some that are just in her head).

Her personal social media links:

Website

Twitter

Blog

Facebook

Goodreads

LinkedIn

Off Our Meds MultiMedia, LLC

Email

Her Indie Book Collective (where she and the rest of the Collective help teach authors how to use social media to market their books)

Website

Twitter

Blog

Facebook

Goodreads

LinkedIn

Technical Publishing articles on DigitalBookWorld.com

Poignant articles on Lifarre.com

Motivational article on MOMeoMagazine.com

Acknowledgments

So many people contribute to any book that it is hard to list them all. However, I intend to try!

This book would never have come into existence without, of course, Jim. Ever cool. Ever there.

Dee Dee, who has believed in me for so long it is almost impossible to remember a time without her. #andnothatsnotadissonyourage

Carrie, my editor, who knows of my love for sentence fragments and run-on sentences, yet who still patiently edits them to the point where they are readable!

Table of Contents

Book Cover

Main Menu

Start Reading

Other Works by Carolyn McCray

Pet Whisperer…err...rrrrr – New series with Ben Hopkin. Animals talk back!

8 Hearts Beat as One – A romance anthology featuring a Carolyn short

Indian Moon – Carolyn’s tender contemporary romance

7 Folds of Winter – Carolyn’s YA fantasy featuring a quest…and a white wolf.

Pups in Tea Cups: “Tales from the Tea Cup” Essays:

Section One: An Introduction to “Littleness”

“Antoinette”: The Ballerina

“Boss”: More Curious Than a Cat

“Wasabi”: Shower Guard

“Love Bug”

Section Two: “Littleness in Action”

“Chief”: My Littleness Guru

“Kippy” and His Spreadsheet

“Lady Bug”

“Sophie,” “Popcorn,” and “Cocoa Puff” – Handing over the Torch

“Zeppo”: Kid Friendly? Not So Much.

“D.O.G.”: The Doggie that Defined My Career

“Daisy” and “Lulu”: Unlikely Friends

“Linus” the Troublemaker

Section Three: Survival Instincts? Not So Much!

“Miss Buttercream Cupcake”

“Hermione”: How Many Calories Does Love Have?

“Titan” and “Frannie”: The Oddest of Odd Couples

“Pumpernickel”: Flying High without a Net

“Charmin” and Her Near-fatal Attraction to…You Guessed It, Toilet Tissue!

“Greta”: Definitely Not Acrophobic

“Pumpkin Pie with Whipped Cream on Top”

“Penelope”– Party Girl?

“Tyler” – the Playaholic

Section Four: Little Dogs = Big Miracles

“Mr. Wiggles” – Won’t Take ‘No’ for an Answer

“Tinkerbell” and the Corporate Captain Hook

“Bagel Bites”: Magic Across Generations

“Taz”: The Little One That Could

“Fiona” – The Rescuer

“Frick” and “Frack”: It Took Two to Pull Off This Miracle!

“Chi-Chi” – The Pekingese???

“Tumbler” – Tumbled Right into Our Hearts

“Tootsie Pop” – Tougher Than a Rattlesnake Bite?

“Ali”: A Dog with Lots of “Heart”!

“Christmas”: A Season of Miracles

Section Five: Simply Silly Tales

“Petar”: To Crate, or Not to Crate?

“Cecil” and His Near (Actually Pretty Far Away from) Death Experience

“Diva” – Housebreaking? Not!

“Gazpacho” – The Master of Mind Control

“Rambo” – Fashion Icon? Yep.

To return to the Main Menu, click here.

Table of Contents

Praise for Pups in Tea Cups:

About the Author

The Purpose of Pups in Tea Cups

Section One An Introduction to “Littleness”

Section Two: “Littleness” in Action

Section Three: Survival Instincts? Not So Much!

Section Four Little Dogs = Big Miracles

Section Five: Simply Silly Tales

Afterword

Other Works by Carolyn McCray

Medical Disclaimer (You knew there had to be one)

Copyright Information

Acknowledgments