I don’t know if she knows she’s as funny as she is. She just does her own thing and she’s unapologetic about it.
My name is Kathy and this is Granny Story for GeoBeats. This is the story of my little dog, a tiny creature with a massive personality and a very particular way of cooling down after she gets the zoomies.
She’s 100% deaf. She cannot hear a single sound in the entire world, not my voice calling her name, not the rustle of a treat bag, not the doorbell ringing. But she is very attuned to what we are doing.
She watches our movements, she feels the vibrations in the floor, she reads our body language with an intensity that hearing dogs simply do not need to develop. She knows exactly where we are and what we are up to at all times.
You cannot tell this girl what to do. She is very confident, very brave, but very independent and opinionated little dog. She has a mind of her own and she is not afraid to use it.
She knows what she wants and she goes after it with a single-minded determination that I have to admire, even when it leaves me shaking my head in disbelief.
She’ll go into gremlin mode when she has her zoomies. It is a sight to behold. She tears around the house at top speed, her little legs a blur, her ears flapping in the wind she creates herself.
She bounces off furniture, skids across the hardwood floors, and generally acts like a tiny, furry tornado that has been unleashed indoors. It is pure, unadulterated joy and energy, and it is absolutely hilarious to watch.
She started sitting in water bowls and it just became a daily occurrence. It doesn’t matter the size of the bowl, she’ll put whatever part of her body she can put in the bowl to cool down. If it is a small bowl, she might just get her front paws in there.
If it is a larger bowl, she will plop her entire rear end down into the water, sitting in it like it is a tiny, refreshing bathtub designed just for her. She does not care if the water splashes everywhere. She does not care if she is soaking wet.
She is on a mission to cool down, and nothing is going to stop her.
She started doing it outside and then eventually she recognized that she could do it inside. The moment that realization hit her, it was all over. Now, anytime she gets a little toast, she has the zoomies, she’ll come in and cool herself down.
She will run her laps around the living room, work herself into a happy, panting frenzy, and then she will make a beeline for her indoor water bowl. She will sit right down in the middle of it, the water sloshing over the sides and onto the floor, and she will just sit there, perfectly content, until she feels her body temperature drop back to normal.
I really just have embraced that this is something that she does and allow it at this point. We just kind of have accommodated. It is her thing.
It is her quirk. It is one of the many little oddities that makes her who she is. I used to try to stop her, to redirect her, to get her to drink the water instead of sitting in it.
But it was a losing battle. She was determined, and I eventually realized that there was no harm in it. It makes her happy.
It cools her down. And it is absolutely hilarious to watch.
It’s very rare that I’ll tell her not to. She just does her own thing and she’s unapologetic about it. She has no problem communicating and telling everybody what to do.
She may not be able to hear, but she knows that we can hear. She uses her voice to get what she wants. She will stand by her water bowl and bark at me until I come over and refill it, even if it is still half full.
She wants fresh water, and she wants it now.
She’ll often bark for what I call elevator service if she wants to get on and off the bed. She will stand at the edge of the bed, look up at me, and let out a sharp, insistent bark. That bark means, “I need a lift, please.”
She is perfectly capable of jumping up and down on her own, but she prefers the royal treatment. She wants to be picked up and placed gently on the mattress, or lifted down and set carefully on the floor. She has trained me well.
I love you. She’s my sidekick. It’s a pretty special bond.
We spend almost every moment together. She follows me from room to room. She curls up next to me when I am working.
She sleeps under the covers with me at night. She is my constant companion, my little shadow, my furry best friend.
The first time I saw her picture I knew she was special. All my dogs are special, but I knew there was something a little bit different about her. There was a look in her eyes, a certain tilt of her head, that told me she was not like the others.
She had a spark, a personality that was just waiting to burst out. I knew from that very first moment that she was going to be a character.
I’ll often say that she’s like a living stuffed animal. She is so soft and cuddly. She has this round, plush little body that is just perfect for hugging.
She is generally wherever I am. And she’s got plenty of beds to lay in, but often times she’ll be under the blanket next to me. Unless it’s too warm, then she might be in her water bowl.
She has a dozen cozy dog beds scattered around the house, but she prefers to be pressed up against me, burrowed under a blanket, or, when the temperature rises, sitting in a bowl of cool water.
Everybody thinks it’s ridiculous and hilarious. It makes people smile, and that’s kind of I think also why I’ve let it go. When friends come over and see her sitting in her water bowl, they laugh.
When I post pictures of it online, people comment with laughing emojis and heart emojis. She brings joy to people. She makes them laugh.
And in a world that can be so serious and stressful, having a little dog who is unapologetically herself and who cools down by sitting in a water bowl is a gift. It is a reminder to not take life too seriously. It is a reminder to embrace your quirks.
It is a reminder that sometimes, the funniest things are also the most wonderful.
