Hi! My name is Vickie, and I weigh four pounds. When I was born, I weighed only two ounces. I am the runt of my litter, born with a tail already bobbed, and I am tan and white. The breeder cautioned my people (Connie and Richard) that I might never make the 3-1/2 pound minimum requirement for showing a TFT. Since they were interested only in a pet, and this was their first small dog, they said they would come to see me again when I was two weeks old. I weighed 4 ounces, at that point, and they fell in love with me. The breeder took pictures of me every week and saved them for my people. When my people brought me home at eight weeks old, I weighed just about one pound.
Here is a picture of me when I was 20 weeks old. I weighed about one and a half pounds. My new vet said I would never make show weight, but, I fooled him. At eight months, I weighed in at 3-1/2 pounds. By that time, I had been spayed and wouldn't qualify for show, anyway. All of this was of no importance because I became the love of my people's lives, and no show judge could tell them I wasn't the most beautiful inhabitant of dogdom. According to them, my lack of size was overcome by an uncommon intelligence and a huge capacity to show love and loyalty.
Having been introduced to the breed, one TFT would not be enough. Sometime in the future, my people would have as many TFTs and they could manage. In the meantime, I grew and prospered. I am small, but I am mighty big of heart. My comprehension of vocabulary is extensive and almost instantaneous. I have only to hear a command once or twice, and I remember it forever. I can do all kinds of tricks; I'm not boasting, but it is true.
When I first arrived, my Richard used to take me to my litter box every morning by carrying me inside his robe. Afterwards, we would read the paper together. Later, when my Connie woke up, we would all eat breakfast together. I suppose they spoiled me, but they seemed to think I deserved it (and I secretly agreed). I am, and always have been, a well-behaved TFT, not at all like that little rascal Sammie whom they brought home when I was two years old.
Sammie's all right, I guess, but she is so frisky. All she wants to do is play and eat. I do like to play with her, and she is good company when my people go out for a while. Sometimes she tries to steal food from my dish, but I yell at her, and she backs away. She knows who the Alpha-dog is around here. Sometimes, we lie together on the ottoman with a fleece blanket covering us up, and we get all warm and fall sleep.
At night, we each go to sleep in travelling kennels. We burrow into our cuddle beds, and my people lock the door and throw a banket over the kennel. It is dark and quiet and we sleep for a long time until morning. But what I like best of all is when my Connie holds me on her lap; I roll over on my back and she rubs my tummy until I'm fast asleep.
Sammie
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