Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

I want a purse dog.

When I visited my sister in State College a couple weekends ago, we kept seeing these tiny little fluffy dogs, the type you could carry around in your purse. They were all well-groomed and well-behaved, with huge smiles on their fluffy faces.

But let's face it, even when they're bad, they're cute.

Purse dogs can go with you anywhere. The other day, I walked into the hair salon and a purse dog was waiting patiently for her human. From the looks of the purse dog's carefully groomed coif, she'd already had hers done. I think they were getting the same hairdo.

The purse dog trembled as I stepped close to pet it, perhaps fearing that I would dognap it, sliding it in my pocket when no one was looking. Purse dogs know that being so cute puts them in danger; however, when they get scared, they are only cuter.

When I told my boyfriend, The Gryphon, about my desire to have a purse dog, he reminded me that it would be a new dog. My dog, Una, would get jealous, for starters. Then, of course, there's the extra set of vet bills, new pet toys, and bringing home more bagelopes.

Perhaps you're unfamiliar with bagelopes. They're the strange and mysterious creature that I must hunt for my dog. I bring them home after a successful hunting expedition, and my dog feasts on the spoils. (Actually, bagelopes are an inside joke that arose from my brother joking that dogs must think you hunt their food and The Gryphon naming the quarry appropriately.)

Bagelopes being tricky to ... er... bag, I conceded that a second dog, even if it was immensely cute, was not a good idea. That's when I had a flash of inspiration. I'll simply use a shrink ray to make Una a purse dog.

Getting excited about the idea, I picked Una up, all 45 pounds of her, and carried her around the apartment. "I'll shrink you with my Dogalizer," I cooed to her. "And you'll be so small I can put you in my purse and carry you everywhere with me. I'll even show you where the bagelopes run."

I stumbled over to The Gryphon, where he was reading in a recliner. "Do you think I could find a purse big enough to put Una in?" Una, balanced in my arms, gave a big doggie grin.

"You're weird," The Gryphon said.

"Well... you're dating me!" I said, trumping him. My oversized purse dog was getting heavy. "Ugh. Maybe I'll have to get one of those oversized knapsacks. But that would kill my shoulder."

As soon as her feet touched carpet, Una ran off and grabbed her favorite new toy, a squeaky toy that looks like a cross between a squirrel and a rabbit. As she ran around the apartment with it and then settled on her favorite beanbag chair to squeak the squeaky new squirrel's squeaky butt, I realized the key to her happiness: the squirrel is Una's purse dog. And she doesn't even have to get it bagelopes.

Copyright 2004 by Alyce Wilson

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