Road Trips with Family and Must Dash Come too? by Domino, the mini poodle

I'm not being competitive when I say that everyone likes me better than my older brother, Dash, a thoroughly annoying toy poodle.

In that never ending turf war between brains and beauty, I concede to his reign in the good looks department, although my coat is every bit as shiny as his.  But I would argue, shouldn't a winsome nature, mine, ultimately prevail when choosing a companion for our family's upcoming car trip?

I don't know why he just can't be left behind when my family hits the road later this month. There's a whole business in custodial canine care, last I heard.  Or, if that's not possible, our grandmother knows an entire community of Latinas who call him "munecita" or little doll, if you can stand it.

They would be thrilled for the pleasure of his pea brained company. He has fooled everyone into believing that he's good natured because his face has the expression of someone constantly smiling. In fact, and it's not sour grapes to mention this, that upturned sway of his mouth is merely a genetic abnormality.  I'm not a dentist, but I would swear that his grin is caused by his ugly overbite. It exposes his top teeth and leads to all of this confusion. Smiling, indeed!

That pint sized apple polisher; people don't know that behind their backs, he mocks them. In their presence, he lies on his back for tummy rubs, he nuzzles fetchingly in their laps, he hangs his tongue out in drooling faux worship.

But when he's alone, who is the first to sneak into their purses and tear them apart looking for a sucking candy?  Who's the one who thinks nothing of dragging their clothes on to the dirty floor to make himself a more comfortable bed, because the one granny had made for his highness, is too hard on his back?  He's not smiling during these activities, I can assure you.

And when mother reprimands both of us for these unseemly behaviors, who hides behind me and shudders convulsively, with his eyes wide as saucers, looking like a veritable trauma victim?  Who makes me take the flak while he masters the appearance of one wrongly accused?  Let the answer speak for itself.

None the less, and to my dismay, we are both going on this trip.  I know this because as we watched mother pack her bag, Dash pulled one of his coy moves and jumped into the open suitcase with his favorite chew toy in that freakish snout of his.

Mother lifted him up, that nine pounds of trouble, with a gleeful expression. To reassure him, she showed him that she packed the traveling sweater she knitted for him last year. Basking in the high up embrace of her arms, Dash glowed down at me triumphantly, his oversized tongue falling out of his mouth sideways.

I received a comforting pat on the head from mother. "Good, Domino," she said with a conspiratorial expression, acknowledging that we had to humor Dash. I could just puke.

However, I did notice that the sweater she knitted for me, was neatly folded next to her pajamas. She also packed my special fleece, queen sized blanket, a most cumbersome accessory to fit in her suitcase.  I didn't see Dash's favorite plaid wool blanket anywhere. I think I'll point this out to Dash once we're on the road.

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