From The Mailbag

The Questions I Get....

Jenn, why do you call your poms Mutant Poms?

Like their mom, my furbabies aren't exactly normal. Brando, my eighteen year-old who passed away last August, was 15 lbs, big for a pom. When I started researching about finding a mate for a dog, I discovered that I needed to get a female bigger than my male or she's going to suffer. So I spent YEARS keeping an eye out for Brando's potential woman. I thought I'd never find her because most of the poms around here were 8lbs and smaller.

One day, someone advertised about their Big Pomeranian that she couldn't keep any longer. I drove to look at her and TADA! found Magic. Magic was destined to be Mrs. Brando. Why? She was huge. Like Shaquille O'Neal huge (hence, her name). And purebred, with papers. She was so big, Brando needed a ladder. She was so big, she dragged Brando around for a walk. She was so big, Brando gave me the most accusing look when I introduced her to him, that could only be interpreted as, "WTF is that, mom?" When she finally got pregnant years later, she grew to be 28 freaking lbs. For a pom, that's mutant. Brando was a beaten husband ;-).

Now, that's not only the reason why I call them my Mutant Poms. Magic gave me four kids during the one time she allowed Brando to...uh...take advantage of her. All her kids grew up to be 15 lbs. The girls lift their legs like their mom. The boy is a shy sweetheart like his dad and they both SQUAT like girls. The girls would not let any males near them; in fact, I have lesbian dogs because they hump each other when they're in season.

Then there is that weird thing with worms. Yes, worms. My mutant furbabies like to run around in my backyard on cool spring mornings, especially after a rainy night, scratching the ground like chickens and dragging wriggly worms out for breakfast. It's the most disgusting thing to see but I couldn't break these four puppies out of this nasty habit. In the years to come, when I added two more (including Bad Puppy Jiggle Low), I discover that they too love worms for breakfast. Ugh. I've come to the conclusion that I have chicken-dogs, which make them Mutant Poms.

The Mutant Poms, when Magic and Brando were alive, loved to pile on top of each other and sleep. They put their faces inward, so all you can see is this pile of moving, snoring cream-colored rug (yes, one of them snored like a man).

My Mutant Poms like to run outside like a pack of wild animals. It doesn't help that two of them have collapsed trachea, so they sound like grunting hogs when they chase each other. When it gets dark and I call out for them to come in, all I hear are snorting and growly grunts rushing towards me, like I have a brood of pigs about to attack.

I'm totally convinced there's some kind of mutant gene in them. That's why I'm so sad that the girls are lesbo-bitches. They're now too old to breed, anyway, and I can't afford cloning. I love my worm-scratching, hog-grunting, "three times the normal size" Mutant Poms.

TMI? Hey, you asked.

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