When the Heart Wants What it Wants

Our Yorkie Libby is always giving interesting life lessons. The other day, she showed us how to love unconditionally—even if the object of affection is smelly, mangled, and…well, disgusting.

Libby has a pile of plush doggie toys placed in an old cat bed on a trunk at the end of our mattress. In it lays proof of some of her notorious “killing sprees.” Miniature lambs, kangaroos, and lions have limbs torn off, eyes pulled out, necks broken, and tails half-severed. Tony Soprano would be shocked.

Soon after we adopted her, we realized Libby doesn’t play with her toys. She eviscerates them. It’s like she’s a loan shark and they owe her money. Libby shows no mercy as she viciously shakes each one by the throat. She then settles down to get “chew-drunk” as we call it, eyes almost closed in rapture as she slowly gnaws on her favorite body parts.

Apparently, Yorkies were bred in England to go after rabbits, moles, and other small four-legged prey. This breed is aggressive, intelligent, and wily. And Libby is no exception.

So, imagine my surprise when something almost tender happened with one of her toys the other day.

I had had enough of looking at the more abused specimens, especially those once adorable, fat ones, now flat as pancakes. I took a bunch, including a green dinosaur with a chewed-off tail and a little brown squirrel, with no nose. I threw them all into the wastebasket. Libby still had plenty of toys left.

A few hours later, I came back into the bedroom. To my surprise, the wastebasket had been overturned. The green dinosaur was still there, but I couldn’t find the little brown squirrel. I looked around and there it was—back on top of Libby’s toy pile.

Maybe I had made a mistake, I thought, as I picked it up again. Maybe I thought I put the toy in but didn’t. I took the brown squirrel and put it back in the righted wastebasket. I went about my business.

A few hours later, I came back to find the wastebasket on its side again. That dingy little squirrel had been placed back on Libby’s toy pile. I couldn’t help smiling. Surely, this petite Yorkie was sending me a message. Hands off the nose-less squirrel. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

That night, I found Libby on our bed sleeping, and who should be next to her? Of course, Mr. Squirrel. When I thought about it, I realized she did doze with it a lot, not always touching, but nearby. Apparently, Libby had a bond with this toy I hadn’t realized.

Now, despite all its physical atrocities (it recently lost an eye), the squirrel stays. Even with a tough, take-no-prisoners Yorkie, sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants.

And who are we to ask why?

 

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