What did it feel like, watching Mummy go crazy? Well, it was certainly no trip to the dog park, I can tell you that. Well, wait a minute, actually…I guess you could say it’s kind of been like a trip to that really shitty dog park. You know, the one that Walker and I absolutely hate? Yes, you do; the really small one, just down the street, where Mummy won’t let us off leash because all the other dogs are total dicks. That one. I guess you could say it has sometimes been like a trip to that shit hole; for example, all those times that Mummy also acted like a total dick.

It’s hard to say who took it harder, myself or Walker. Me, I am the pretty one; the princess. People do whatever I want them to, because I am so fucking adorable, they can’t help themselves. It’s just this power that I have over people; the power to get whatever I want. Say you have something that I want; I just stand up my hind legs and put my tiny nose right in your face, so you’re forced to look into my eyes. Then I squish my eyebrows together like I’m looking for the answer to the meaning of life, and I let my lower lip pout out a little, and BAM! Your ice cream is mine. Not to mention your wallet.

This ability worked better on Mummy than it did on any other, once. I could get her to hand over piece after piece of buttery popcorn, or a steaming hot chunk of sweet potato; I even got her to give up her entire slice of gooey, cheesey pizza, once.

Then, one day, she came upstairs, and she was gone. I could tell by her eyes; instead of seeing love for us, like I usually saw there, I saw…nothing. There was nothing at all there. Seriously, it was like her eyes were a downtown Calgary nightclub after its first three months of being open ~ there was literally nobody there.

Little did I know, that scenario would come to be the best of all Shit Scenarios available to us; it would become our preference, sadly, to have Mummy just not be at home.

Because we didn’t like any of the other options on offer. Some of the time, she was angry, without reason. Then she would be suddenly without the energy to move or even awaken, for days on end. Worse still was when Mummy would cry. A lot. The smallest thing would go wrong and she would sink to the floor sobbing, mewling out the kind of helpless agony that Walker cried out, on the day he finally understood that he’d been castrated, three weeks earlier.

She frightened us, on days like these; Walker and I would tiptoe around the rocking human Mummy~ball on the floor, uncertain what to do. Walker, all due credit to him, would venture forth and give her arm or hand a tentative lick, as though to let her know we were still there. I was too frightened to do anything more than stand there and stare. Though I did also occasionally chase the cat down, so I could bark at him. I knew this was a much better way of helping Mummy than just licking her goddamn hand. God, Walker, can be such a prat sometimes.

It took a long time, but eventually, I was proven correct, and Mummy did get better. (So suck it, Walker, you dumb, thinks~licking~solves~everything Papillon). I sincerely hope we don’t have to repeat that hell, ever again.

Incidentally, if you’re interested? We have no wish to revisit that shitty dog park down the street again, either.