But, Dad Said...

My dog is named James. James is a girl. Don’t judge! James is a ten year old, purebred Toy Fox Terrier. So, she’s small. Insert manhood joke here. I have taken heaps of crap over my dog James. I love James. James was free.

Three months before 9/11 my former life wrecker girlfriend set up an appointment to get James from a breeder in Palm Springs. At the time, I was living in Los Angeles. I had never driven from L.A. to Palm Springs. The change from mediterranean climate to desert is beautiful. The wind farm you encounter is surreal. It’s an image many have seen in movies or tv. As if from another life, the gaps in your brain are filled in a strange deja vu.

We arrived at a house in the desert, not the oasis from classic hollywood films. The sound of compressing stone and sand alerted the breeder to our old, white Volvo pulling up the drive. A cute old lady opened a wobbly screen door while shielding her eyes from the desert sun. Once we had parked and greeted her, she advised us to leave our other Toy Fox Terrier in a pre-staged gated area. The wild pack of dogs, none over 9 inches tall, were likely to maul our Lalya to death. We took her advice.

Inside there were multiple areas gated off with new puppies in them. Our hearts were set on the breed’s recessive color marking of white, tan, and brown. We had also wanted a boy. As it turned out, batty… er… cute Toy Fox Terrier lady had only one brown and tan, a female. A decision needed to be made. There was a pup with the dominant gene of white, tan and black that caught my attention. He had great markings, three black circles, one smaller than the next curved around his back. I thought he was the one. The recessive gene girl was defiantly the runt of the litter and looked a tad sickly. We inquired about the runt and TFT lady mentioned she had already filed the American Kennel Club paperwork and she seemed quite reluctant to part with her. The AKC paperwork listed: Toy Fox Terrier, Tri-colored, Name: Cocoa… Cocoa? Insert second manhood joke. She was cute though. We stayed for hours trying to pick between the two. The breeder was pissed. She kept saying, “Just pick one! You’ll love them the same once you’re home.” Finally I decided that my girlfriend would pick. She went inside, selected, then held her choice behind her back. I went in, and slowly, she revealed her choice: the recessive gene runt. I wrote a check for double what the dominant gene dog cost and we were on our way.

Driving back to L.A. we threw around names. The night before we set on James, but because the dog was female, we tried to come up with a few options. Pippa, is the only one I can remember. It sure as tits wasn’t gonna be Cocoa! Was it weird to have a girl dog named James? History has answered yes.

James is awesome. She has a knack for finding the warmest, cuddly place in which to snuggle. A few weeks after our trip to Palm Springs my dad visited. His first night there he slept on the couch with James. Sipping his morning coffee he turned to me and said, “That dog slept in my butt last night.”

Ten years pass, my true love and I have our beautiful daughter. Suddenly, James seems… well… kind of… meh. Once you have children, dogs take new form. They miraculously change into what they are, dogs. Gone is the elevated status of child. From the parents I’ve talked to this seems to be a common occurrence. I still love her, but, she’s just a dog now, not my Baby James. Sorry James.

I often wonder what happened to that crazy Toy Fox Terrier lady living alone in the desert with a pack of little nippers. How long until someone found her body? I hope that dominant gene male with the circle markings became Alpha. It may be a tad morbid, but I think she died soon after we left, because she never cashed the check. Then again, thinking back, we never changed the AKC paper work. In the eyes of the American Kennel Club, my tiny, free, currently masturbating dog is named Cocoa.