I am an approximately five year old rough coat female chihuahua. Animals don't count years like humans and my best friend doesn't have records of my exact date or place of birth, so he had to get the best guess from the shelter I was rescued from and our vet.


After my best friend lost his previous dog Swizzle, he sunk into a really bad and very deep depression. For almost a whole month he couldn't bring himself to do nearly anything. He was unemployed at the time and if he had had a job at that time he would have most certainly lost it for calling out - or not caling out and still not going in, more likley - because all he could do was sleep and cry. Then one day he rolled over in bed and made the decision that it was time for a new buddy. A new best friend.

He always thought chihuahua's were cute and always had so much fun interacting with them when he ran into them, in public or with friends who owned them, and always wanted one for his own, but typically he never lived anywhere where he could have a dog - even a tiny one like me - or simply was not in a financial place to afford getting one. He had a girlfriend for a while who had a chihuahua named Tinkerbell that I hear he loved a lot and even trained a little. But it wasn't until Swizzle that he was able to have one. And after losing her, he knew if he ever wanted a new best friend it would have to be another chihuahua.

So after that month and with that backstory and history, he set out on a quest to find a new buddy. A new best friend. He reached out to a lot of rescues, the Humane Society, joined over a dozen chihuahua adoption groups on social media, looked on Craigslist, and put the word out with his friends - online and in real life - that he was ready and looking for a new chihuahua to bring home.

For nearly three weeks he would express interest and apply to adopt over a dozen different chihuahuas he found endearing for one reason or another, and for those same nearly three weeks he got turned down for one reason or another or was too late in the game and someone else beat him to the punch or, in a few instances, the adoption fee was just too far out of budget. By the way, my best friend knew he wanted to go through an adoption or rescue scenario from day one, rather than through a breeder. Swizzle had come from a breeder and if he hadn't ended up with her in the roundabout way that it happened, she would have been euthanized for being "too old" to breed anymore. So he knew he could not support a breeder in any fashion. At any rate, nearly three weeks go by and nothing. He's feeling defeated. He's feeling alone. He's depressed. He just so badly wants a new best friend in a tiny package.

Then all of the sudden that familiar *ding* notification of a messenger alert rings out in the empty bedroom he's asleep in. It's my mom at the time sending a message to him, my - at the time - stranger and yet to be new best friend. She sends him a few pics and a little bit of info about me and the situation. Essentially, my family at the time adopted me with the best intentions but after two and a half months just accepted the fact that their house and family just weren't a good fit for me. They had a young daughter who was pretty rambunctious and it scared me a lot. They also had a cat that liked to antognize me, and that was not a lot of fun. I mostly kept to myself in my kennel in my mom and dad's bedroom and that was a pretty boring life. To their benefit, they would take me out and hang out with me and play with me whenever they were in the bedroom. But that wasn't very often. And those moments often ended too soon with either the cat or their daughter inevitably entering the room.

Needless to say, he was very interested. Who can blame him, look at how cute I am? The only issue was that my home at the time was just about an hour away from where he lived. Schedules and gas money and time had to be arranged. Initially it sounded to me like it might be a few days before he would be able to come meet me, but after about two hours of he and my family chatting I heard he was on his way. I was very nervous but I was also very excited - even though I didn't really know why at the time.

My family met him outside when he arrived. They all talked for a little bit, I really couldn't hear what they were saying even with my amazing canine hearing. I think they may have been whispering, hoping not to excite or frighten me too much. Needless to say, I was excited. It wasn't until he walked in the door that I becamse frightened. As soon as I caught a glimpse of him from behind the couch I ran to my kennel. He was just so... big. My mom and dad at the time were barely five and a half feet tall each. And they were in pretty good shape. For humans, I suppose. And of course their daughter was much smaller. The damned cat was, too. Him, though. He is over six feet tall and not thin at all. He's a little fluffier now, which I love, but at the time he was more, I don't know, big, but not fat but not muscular... just big. And intimidating. He had a big beard and long hair and, what I have come to learn is called something like "resting bitch face"? I don't know, the term is confusing to me, not every female dog has the same face, but I dunno, humans are weird with their language. Anyways, yeah, I was just not sure. I looked up at him from my kennel, nuzzled up in my favorite blanket next to my baby - that's my favorite toy. He spoke to me with the sweetest voice and he spoke to me by name. They way he singsonged my name, "ELLllLlLaAaAaaaa...", I just couldn't resist coming out to get a better view. I jumped up onto the head of my mom and dad's bed and crwaled under a shawl sitting there. He stood at the end of the bed with the biggest smile just staring me in the eyes. He put out his hand, palm down with fingers relaxed and whispersingsonged "hiiii, sweetie..."

I peeked my head out from under the shawl and slinked my up to his hand. I gave his two middle knuckles a kiss and ran back to my shawl cave. My mom at the time gasped, "she never does thaaaaat...". She wasn't wrong. I didn't. Not even with her or my dad at the time. I was always too nervous a cat was gonna fly in from somewhare or a little girl was gonna come aggressively snatch me and play dollies or some shit. It took some time and pleading to get me out of my kennel up in their bed for hangtime. I never slept in bed with them, not even once. Needless to say, I felt something different about this initially big and scary man. Mom at the time brought out my baby, which is my faovite toy - they called it my baby for some weird reason. Like I said, humans and their language is just weird. She handed it to him and he put it down on the bed and asked me if I wanted it. Uh, of course, I always want my baby. Duh. But, I mean, how could he know that at the time. So I cut him some slack and came out and bit it and nuzzled it around the bed a little. Then I went and let him pet me a little. Then I did the unthinkable and let him pick me up. I still hate being picked up. But I let him at that moment. My mom and dad at the time looked eachother in the face with jaws dropped.

I let him carry me around their house for another forty five minutes while they told him more about me and my habits and diet and such, gathered my health and history records and my things, and then helped him load all of them into his car. I hate being carried around, but I let him. For almost an hour. Then it dawned on me. I was going to leave my family and live with him.

Shortly after all that, he put my favorite blanket and my baby down in the front passenger seat of his car and moments after that is where I was.

What seemed like a very short hour later - admittedly, I had dozed off a little - we arrived at his house. During the ride the temp was just right, the sun was shining in at just the right angle, he was listening to some smooth and jazzy drum'n'bass at a lower volume, and he kept looking at me every few minutes during the whole ride asking how I was doing. I was the most comfortable I'd been since I could remember. I wouldn't say I wasn't nervous about leaving the car and going into his space, but at the same time I was certain that I was safe. I don't know that I'd ever felt that way before.

He sat in is chair, he laid in his bed, he walked around doing his normal things trying to get me to come out of my shell and blanket cave I built upon arrival. I was interested but I wasn't having it, all at the same time. So he let me be and sat down at his desk in front of that stupid computer. But he pulled up a small circular chair next to him and put one of my other blankets and my baby in it. Along with some treats. Fuck am I sucker for treats. Truthfully, if he had brought out the treats in hand when he came through the door, big and tall as he is, we could've saved all of us a lot of time and I could've spent a few more hours with my, now, best friend.

I kid, I kid. Mostly. I damn well do love treats. But it takes a special person to warm my heart and make me show my belly. And I showed him my belly about an hour after we got to his place. We've been best friends ever since.


I spend most of my days, which feel like an eternity each and every one, waiting for him to wake up or come home from whatever it is he does all day. He says it's *WORK* and it's not that bad but still trying and tiring at the same time. And, from what he's saying, I couldn't be here without it. I kind of understand, I guess. It's trying and tiring waiting for him to get home, what feels like, literally ALL of the time, though.

He spends every waking minute at home with me though, quite literally, so I should just stfu. I hate it when he even looks at another animal though, so I stay cute as hell at all times.