Chihuahua

Chihuahua: (n) a small dog of a smooth-haired, large-eyed breed originating in Mexico

I will not bore you with the standard patter about how tiny and stupid looking Chihuahuas are. This has been long established by many writers preceding me.

The creature is obviously a rat that was exposed to radiation–perhaps near Los Alamos–grew in size and lost its hair. I am completely
satisfied with this explanation.

Today I would like to focus on the bark. Pardon me. It is not worthy of being called a “bark.”

  • It is a yap.
  • A yippity.
  • A yonk-yonk.
  • A vocal snap.
  • A sound conceived in the depths of hell by a satanic cherub who was trying to get people to hate dogs.

I don’t know if there’s anything more aggravating than walking through a store and coming upon some hapless soul holding one of these creatures, and being yapped at for fifteen or twenty seconds, as the owner pretends he or she has control.

Comical as it may seem–the dog thinking it has any dominion–it is still annoying that such a pretentious piece of animal flesh thinks it has any purpose or right to spark out its opinions.

If they were pleasant dogs, you could associate the word “cute” with them. When you came upon their tiny frames, you could say, “Isn’t it cute?” and it would look up at you with its little doggy mouth and oversized eyes, moist with affection.

But not the chihuahua.

It literally is a large rat on speed.

It has a bad attitude, it tries to overcompensate for its size by being obnoxious, and if I lived in Mexico in the State of Chihuahua, I would demand that they rename the dog.

As you can probably tell, I have never owned a Chihuahua.

But I will confess that I have considered accidentally letting a few of them out in traffic.

 

 

Donate Button

Bustle

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Bustle: (v) to move in an energetic or noisy manner

Speed kills.

It’s a simple statement but true.

Generally speaking, we convince ourselves that by acting energetic and moving along at a breakneck clip, we convey passion and purpose. Actually, we’re just burning unnecessary flame to stoke a fire.

This has taken me years and years to understand. I have often placed myself in an atmosphere with those who bustle and hustle and insist on using more muscle. It ends up being a nervous, frustrating event, permeated with anxiety. The byproduct is always exhaustion.

I know we believe that at the end of our work we should be tired–but nowhere in any book of quality or holiness is it suggested that fatigue is the reward for fruitful effort.

The prize spoken of in these volumes is joy. We should be joyful when we finish what we set out to do.

If we’re frustrated, grouchy, sporting a headache, or testy, we probably have tried to run when walking was available, and bounce when rolling would have been just as efficient.

Here is an axiom: slow down, do better things, feel great.

Actually, when I started believing that everything I did in life was supposed to produce joy, I not only simplified the pace, but I found that I embraced the endeavor so much more–and I learned how to do it more quickly. I got just as much done in much less time without becoming frantic.

Do not try to impress me by talking about your bustle. Such “raciness” only lends itself to crashes.

Donate ButtonThank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix