Pure Joy Read Online Free Page A

that I never wanted a Chihuahua, that I would now officially become one of those weird old women with pink hair carrying a Chihuahua in a pink sweater. And as I told myself all the reasons why I didn’t/shouldn’t want her, I heard a voice say “I’ll take her.” Who said that? Omigod, I did! What had I just done? A Chihuahua? But you can’t argue with love once it hits.
    I had the same feeling I’d had about Greta all those years before, when she’d arrived uninvited from Ohio, with her funny face and class-three malocclusion underbite. I was in love, which was what I had said I wanted, regardless of breed. If I wanted to fall in love, this was it. And how could I fall in love with a dog? Don’t ask me how, but I did. My daughter Victoria was with me, who encouraged me to get her, and at least two of my other daughters had warned me that I didn’t need another dog and said it was a stupid idea. But stupid or not, I did it. Feeling dazed and a little giddy and actually guilty for being so self-indulgent, I handed them my credit card and bought her, as they told me she was too young to take with me, and I’d have to wait three or four more weeks to take her home.
    Victoria, who was my partner in crime that day, offered to bring her when she came home for Thanksgiving, and I then proceeded to pick out pink water bowls, two beds, a bunch of collars that looked small enough for a hamster, and the smallest toys they had, which were bigger than she was. I was besotted, and my children’s predictions were already coming true. I had owned her for five minutes, and I was already turning into one of those weird women I was terrified of becoming. I had become the owner of a tiny white long-haired teacup Chihuahua, and I had the frightening feeling that my life was about to change dramatically. And with the same kind of exultation mixed with terror you feel when you meet someone you are instantly crazy about, I went back to my hotel, knowing I had fallen in love with a one-pound dog. But who could resist those tiny mouse paws around my neck? For me, a puppy promises love and cozy moments, companionship and comfort, and that feeling that all is well in the world. In a way, it is a sign of hope.
    It was late afternoon when I left the tiny white puppy at the pet shop, and I had dinner plans that night, and I came back to the pet shop alone that evening before dinner to hold her again. And as we saw each other and she snuggled in my arms, I knew I was hooked. She didn’t even have a name yet. My daughter had suggested Yoda because she looked like him.
    I was thinking of Blanche Neige, which is Snow White in French. And when I told a friend about her, he suggested Minnie Mouse, which seemed perfect for her. Minnie. I loved it, almost as much as I loved the tiny white Chihuahua.
    Life suddenly seems so simple when you fall in love with a puppy. I smiled every time I thought of her. And no matter how crazy anyone thought I was to get her, I knew I had done the right thing. In an imperfect world full of heartbreak and disappointments, after looking high and low for her for several months, Minnie Mouse and I had found each other. It was exactly what I had hoped for when I started looking, it was true love. What more could I want?

Baby Minnie comes home

Alessandro Calderano

THREE

Minnie Comes Home
    Knowing that Minnie wouldn’t arrive in San Francisco for a few weeks, it took me a while to confess to what I’d done. Puppy? What puppy? Where? We had taken a few snapshots of her with a cell phone, and I started showing them to friends. She looked so sweet nestled in my hand. I told my children about her, some of whom declared me officially insane. They reminded me that I had dogs in San Francisco—what was I doing buying another dog? Fortunately, Victoria kept assuring me I’d done the right thing and remained enthusiastic, which kept me from having second thoughts. I tried explaining to the others that she would travel with me,