Dash is so Annoying by Domino, the mini poodle

My little brother Dash is so annoying. Technically, he's older, only by one week, but because he's a toy poodle and I'm a miniature, people always think that I'm the big brother. This fiction gives Dash the unfair advantage of being seen and treated as the baby in the family. And supporting this assumption is the glaring difference in our levels of maturity, even though we are both six.

Everyone loves Dash at first glance because he is, I've heard say, small and cute.  You see dogs like him around, stuffed in people's purses like a baby doll, wearing coats and bows and an air of entitilement. People can't believe that Dash's nickname around our house is "9 pounds of trouble."

Our grandmother always says that Dash has only two states of being: happy and frustrated.  And what makes this astounding lack of emotional range all the more irritating, is that the only thing that makes him happy, is, well, not yours truly, his brother, or the superior companionship I offer him.

No, I have to accept, that for Dash, there is only one for whom he has true loyalty or genuine passion. There is only one love he longs for, only one friend he would go to the ends of the earth to find. And that, dear reader, is his torn and much abused tennis ball.  Our mother threw it in a closet years ago,when she was just a little girl, never thinking it would reappear as my competition.

I agree with mother's disdain for tennis. We dogs can bring that fuzzy yellow ball back and forth from one side of the net to the other, without the need of paraphernalia like a racket or even, for that matter, effort.  In our world, we just call this to and fro, Fetch.  We don't need arenas and tournaments. Talk about gilding the lily.

I'm hoping that when his ball eventually falls apart, mother will let Dash founder, rather than replacing it. Anybody can see that he needs to toughen up.  It would be good for him.  Maybe he'd even notice me, not that I'm complaining.

But really, should his attachment be stronger to that ball than to his own brother?  Now he's just a one-note-Johnny. Perhaps Dash might broaden his horizons and learn from mother herself.  I think she was possessed of uncommonly good sense when, rather than embracing the inanimate charm of a tennis ball, she turned to horses instead.  Now that was a love match!

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