I live with two men. Granted, added together they don’t weigh more than 15 pounds, but what they may lack in weight, height and stature, they more than make up for in bravado and testosterone! These eight year old Yorkshire Terriers are the terrors of my backyard and mortal enemies of our neighbor’s Chihuahua.
Our neighbor’s yard only borders ours by about eight feet, but for warriors weighing less than eight pounds, that’s more than one foot per pound and plenty of fighting space. Only able to wage war through a shadowbox fence, battles are always indecisive, but this is no deterrent. Since they can’t reach each other, vegetation within snapping reach has been reduced to stubble. No plants on earth have ever faced such ferocity!
Since the exit from the porch is opposite the battle zone, letting the dogs out has become a ritual “releasing of the hounds” with all the attendant baying, yelping and spinning circles anticipatory to the head-long race to be first into the fray. I could charge admission, it is that entertaining.
My larger (and gentler) Yorkie is named Mickey; my smaller (and more talkative) is named Teddie. On the opposing side (AKA, “The Evil Doers”), we have the very quiet (and non-combatant) Bell and her diminutive and erstwhile mate, Taco (mui cute, no?). Since it was the two smallest males that started the skirmishes, the neighbor and I call these raucous mêlées “The Teddie/Taco Wars” and hope the other neighbors don’t call Animal Control.
My other Yorkie, Mindy, and I just look at each other, roll our eyes, and have a nice game of fetch, tug and tear the plush off of all the furry toy “babies.” Men are just too vicious and unfathomable for us.