When questioned why, I respond with:
- They're aggressive and yappy.
- They're annoying.
- I'm not sure they're even real dogs.
Granted, I'm a southern woman, and I would never say those things to an actual Chihuahua owner, but I would certainly talk behind their backs about their poor choice of dogs. I laugh at jokes about Chihuahuas, and I even try to avoid Chihuahuas at the dog park. I have threatened to disown my three grown children if they should ever make me a grandma of Chihuahuas. In other words, I'm a Chihuahua bigot.
And while you may be reading this (or I might even be writing this) sort of tongue-in-cheek, it honestly kind of bothers me. I've even tried to work on the way I feel and act but my bigotry seems almost innate, like it's natural to dislike something so different in my eyes from all of the other dogs.
But just like Paul on the road to Damascus, in a matter of about 20 minutes this past week, my heart was changed forever.
Grace, my 108 pound bundle of love, and I were taking our evening walk. We'd seen rabbits, talked to our young friends who like to pet Grace each day. We'd even said hey to a few other dogs we pass along the way.
We had just rounded the corner of the street over from us, when out of nowhere a Chihuahua ran toward Grace. Of course, Grace being Grace, accepted this dog as her new best friend as it ran in and out and under of Grace's legs, jumping up to kiss Grace's muzzle, standing on hind legs to be tall enough to sniff Grace's butt, all the while I tried to shoo it away.
It didn't shoo.
I tried to keep walking, but Grace kept turning her head around and her new friend kept following. I even glanced around to see if maybe somebody else was walking on this street that might help this animal out but to no avail.
I finally knelt down very begrudgingly to see if it's collar had a phone number. Long story short, after a quick text to the number on the collar, it turns out "it" was a "he" whose name is Zeke. His dad was out looking for him and we were able to meet up. In the meantime, Zeke proceeded to give me about a thousand kisses in the short block that I carried him to his Dad.
And just like that. Boom.
I love Chihuahuas.
Zeke was the first I had ever known, the first I had reached out to, the first I had cared about and loved. In 20 minutes.
Over the years, I've been lucky enough for the same thing to happen to me with people -- even the yappy ones who are a bit annoying.
Because I hit the jackpot when it comes to parents and my chosen profession, I've experienced lots of people who are very different from me.
I remember in the early 1980s when my mom's colleague and friend died from AIDS. She hugged him closely as he was dying, and boom, my family cared for those who suffered from AIDS because now to my family AIDS had a name -- David -- and we would never turn away from David.
As a kid, we lived as protestants in a very Catholic neighborhood. Our next door neighbor brought us soup when my mom was sick. She wore a handkerchief on her head when she went to mass. And while the rest of my extended family reported that Catholics prayed to idols, boom, my family celebrated first communions with our friends. We may not have understood the Catholic practices and traditions, but my parents knew that someone who brings soup is the hands and feet of Christ.
My very white, Appalachian, dad ran a gas station in a black neighborhood during the time of King's activism and assassination. Dad loved and respected his customers and, boom, our family threw out a generational usage of the N word and my black friends were welcomed into our home.
As a teacher, I've had the opportunity to love Muslims, Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons and Jews. I've loved black kids, Asian kids, Hispanic kids. I've loved kids from redneck homes, those who live in trailer parks and housing projects. I've loved kids from homes so large that I find them nauseating -- except for the fact that I love the people in that house and, boom, the nausea is gone.
In my personal life, I love friends and family who are as far right politically and religiously as I am left, but they wrap me in their arms, send cards when I'm sick, they love and protect me.
Recently though, the opportunity to love so many different kinds of people has almost frozen me...because I feel so afraid for all of them-- all of us.
Because every group of "thems" has a name for me -- Barrack and Bekah and Joe and Carlos and Mrs. Harrigan and Rashad and Becky and Matt -- that means that they are, we are, all at risk of being hurt and unloved. We are all at risk of being the aggressors and perpetuating hate. We all seem doomed -- sort of.
Our only hope is meeting each other, finding out each other's names, and helping each other find their way home. That's all it took for Zeke and me.
