Pepe Does Acapulco (Part I)

Making friends in Acapulco

“Acapulco is quite different from Malibu” thought Pepe. “At least the locals here (iguanas) won’t eat me like the Malibu locals (coyotes).” he realized. This weekend, Pepe and I went on a little trip. My brother was celebrating his wedding Acapulco style. So we decided to take the four-hour flight to Mexico City and the three-hour drive from there to Acapulco. Pepe wasn’t thrilled about the distance but he quickly got over it once he realized that customs in Mexico are different and every single person he met would give him a treat regardless of what I said to them. Eating “human food” all day every day was a treat and of course, coming back to the harsh reality where there is no more chicken or tortillas or ham, only cold, cold doggie pellets has been quite hard on him. The other thing that has been quite hard on him is realizing how popular he was over there among older ladies. He was fielding requests left and right to meet their little female dogs. Pepe came back with the promise of having at least 10 “novias” in Mexico and that has had him in a bit of a funk ( He doesn’t realize how much work a girlfriend is, let alone 10. I’ve tried to explain but he is still thoroughly enchanted by the prospect of having his own personal mexican harem.)

Wedding

 

Pepe’s wild side

The coyote (Canis latrans), also known as the American jackal

The Pepe (Canis Pepes), also known as Malibuan Pomeranian

I’ve heard horror stories from pet owners in Malibu about encounters with coyotes: From little dogs getting attacked by aggressive packs of coyotes in the mountains behind Big Rock to chickens being snatched from properties on Point Dume. A particular gruesome story -which I dont know how much is local legend and how much is true- involves a deer that somehow managed to get itself stuck in a gate on a property on Morning View by Zuma beach. The deer had apparently spent the night with its entire head almost through the bars on the gate while its body stuck out. When the property owner found it in the morning he realized the deer’s back side had been partly chewed off by coyotes during the night while the animal was still alive. When I used to live in Pt. Dume, I would occasionally hear “feedings”: Pack of coyotes that had picked off a small domestic animal. I’ve only had one close encounter with a coyote. It was scary but actually quite magical. A few months ago, I decided to go on a full moon walk in Malibu Canyon at about 11 pm. It was a beautiful night, the moon was bright enough that I could see everything around me pretty well. As I walked into the canyon I started hearing sounds that I had never heard on previous daytime hikes: insects, leaves rusting, underbrush movement. The Canyon was alive! About a mile into the hike I saw a shape right on the trail about fifty feet in front of me. It was a coyote. We stared at each other for about five minutes without moving. I didn’t know what to do, whether I should start running, praying or stay still. After the impasse, I decided to calmly walk back along the trail and get the hell out of the canyon. The coyote jumped into the brush, rushed past me and came out back on the trail in front of me. It kept walking in front of me as long as I moved and would stop if I stopped. It escorted me all the way out of the trail and quickly ran away. I took the experience to mean that the coyote decided to protect the naive human and graciously took time from his full moon extravaganza to make sure I got out of there OK. I love the fact that all this can happen just 30 minutes away form downtown Santa Monica.

Pepe loves to hike. It might be that going into the mountains for a little while allows him to connect with his wild side. We’ll keep hiking… As long as it’s during the day. Coyotes beware!

Dog People Rule #4

4. The person with the smaller dog is responsible for the uncrossing of the leashes.

The Bumblebee Incident

Playing in the surf...

It had been an especially beautiful afternoon. The tide had gone down lower than it had all year, giving us about 40 yards of beach. Big round rocks had popped up all around from the sand being eroded by the strong tides. I had brought down my Ipod, a good book and Pepe’s favorite tennis ball and had found a nice boulder to sit on, enjoy the sun and read. The arrangement was not agreeable to Pepe. He had other plans in mind: Like me not reading and concentrating on throwing his ball. We managed to reach an agreement, I would read and throw him the ball between paragraphs. We stayed on the beach until the sun started lowering itself over the horizon. We’d had a nice time  -reading, making occasional conversation with neighbors, sniffing a butt or two- just having an easy afternoon. As we came into the house, I noticed Pepe was a little wobbly, walking almost as if he were drunk, and he collapsed almost as soon as he got to his favorite pillow. I though his wobble was kind of funny, as I assumed it had been caused by the “intense” exercise -Despite being so little, Pepe can hold his own with most big athletic dogs.

A couple of hours passed and I noticed that Pepe had been a bit calmer than usual. When I checked in on him, I realized the little guy was completely passed out. I started getting worried and tried to get him to eat something but he refused. I thought he might feel better if he slept for a little while.

He looked very peaceful while he slept. I understood why people, when they meet Pepe, sometimes say: “He looks like a stuffed animal,” “Is that a squirrel?” “Does he have some Ewok in him?” Hoping the nap had helped him feel better, I woke Pepe up to see if he had some appetite. As I rubbed his head to rouse him, he bit me! There was something definitely wrong. I called Dr. Victor at the Malibu Animal Hospital hoping he’d be on call at 9 p.m.

The Dr. was quickly on the line listening to Pepe’s symptoms. “It sounds like he was stung by a bee” Dr. Victor said. “Dogs behave exactly the way you’re describing when they get stung. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. just give him some children’s Benadryl.”

I realized what had happened: Bees sometimes go on the warm sand to die. I’ve stepped on them accidentally and although they’re still dying they still have the ability to sting. It occurred to me that a bee stinging a 3 pound dog would be like a Bumblebee the size of a hawk plunging his stinger into a person. Painful!

I sat next to Pepe. He growled at me. I’d just wait until the Benadryl kicked in.

A Letter From Daisy (2)

Daisy

Hey Pepe,

First off, if I were ten years younger, I would be all over you.

Also, I’m sorry that you’ve been experiencing what I like to call, “annoying humans who have never owned a Pomeranian.” The biggest pain in the ass is waiting for your human to get back to the car and having people tap on the glass to get your attention. I’ve experienced plenty of humans who laugh at my bark and don’t understand the power of my bite. In my time, I dealt with it quite cleverly by biting the Vet. She laughed at me, and I chomped down on her finger. From then on, I was labeled as “dangerous” in my charts. The rumors flew fast and word got around. Once she started discussing me with other dog owners, humans stopped messing with me real fast and other dogs stayed in check.

Thanks for the invite to play with your mini-tennis balls. I’m actually not into that sort of thing (I have a fear of mostly everything that is close to the size of my head.) However, I have some younger female friends who love playing fetch that I will tell about you.

Human food is the bomb. Get your paws on some cream cheese if you can.

Anytime you want to run around the beach and pee on things, I am all for that. Thanks for writing back. You seems like you’re keeping a level-head. Good job, and keep in touch my love.

Yours,

 

Daisy the Pom

Daisy (iloveandhateyouhermosabeach.tumblr.comʼs dog)

 

Dear Daisy

Daisy. Will you tell your girlfriends about me?

 

I had a hard time translating Pepe’s (I’m only semi-fluent in dog speak) response to Daisy but here’s his letter to his new penpal.

Note: I just left out the more explicit remarks Pepe had about Daisy’s picture.

 

November 3rd, 2009

Malibu, CA

Dear Daisy,

Thank you for the wonderful advice! You get me. Not many people do. As you know it’s sometimes hard being so cute. People think that my life has to be easy just because I’m cute ( I do have to acknowledge the fact that I get away with a lot of things thanks to my appearance. But, don’t tell anyone!) and I don’t want to sound ungrateful but in a way it actually kind of complicates things. I totally relate to you getting mad when silly people ask about me:” Oh- my- god-is-that -really-a- dog ?” they say. “Well, I’m right down here lady, listening how you speculate about me being some kind of rodent.” It hurts, Daisy. I’m sure you can understand this. Don’t you hate it when people assume that because you’re so small you don’t have a say in whether your OK just chilling on the ground or if you’re comfortable in bed or just plain don’t want to be picked up! Especially by a stranger who apparently never read Of Mice and Men and therefore does not know that big hands (And in my case most hands are huge relative to my neck) and Lenny like enthusiasm can be very uncomfortable. And then they get offended when I growl at them. Silly humans… How would they like it if some giant stranger came up to them and picked them up without even asking them?

The other thing that humans do that gets on my nerves is that they always underestimate the power of my bite. When I’m in the car by myself people come up to the window sometimes and make silly faces at me and that scares me. I bark at them to let them know that if there wasn’t a car door between us I would totally jump and give them a bite. And they laugh! They think it’s funny. My great great great grand parents were Canadian wolves. I still have some of their DNA you know. My teeth are pretty sharp. I don’t want to be a mean dog, I just want some respect. I’m a dog, that’s what I do. If I feel someone is threatening me or my owner or my territory. I’ll bark. If they don’t listen. I’ll bite. I wish people would take me seriously. Any tips with this Daisy?

As far as everything else goes. Life is good. If you want to come over and hang out with me sometime that would be great. Here’s a list of some of my favorite things:

1. Peeing on things. That way nobody messes with the things I like. (I just can’t do it inside the   house anymore. I got in trouble because I wanted to let my owner know that everything was mine. So now just everything OUTSIDE the house is mine.)

2. Fetching my ball. I got the coolest mini tennis balls. Ill share them with you

3. Eating. Especially human food.

4. Going out for walks. I love going on the beach. I feel like the luckiest dog in the world when  the tide is low enough to go out on the sand -I love messing with the seagulls.

Keep in touch . It was really nice to hear from you.

Pepe

P.S. Do you have any younger sisters?

Pepe meets a new friend

Pepe and his new cute little lady friend

Friday afternoon, taking a little stroll down the beach, Pepe spotted a cute little white poodle. Immediately he ran over to the poodle who was waiting at the top of her steps waiting for her owner to take her down to the beach for a walk. One of Pepe’s signature moves whenever he gets excited about something is to take a quick little pee, not really caring where he is at the moment. The only thing that matters is him is signaling to the world: “I like this. This is now mine!” I think he wanted everyone to know he had liked this poodle and he was proclaiming: “She is now mine.” Because what he did was: lift his little leg up and proceed to urinate right on my neighbor’s deck right, practically on the cute little white poodle -because she refused to move even an inch for Pepe-  as she was coming out of her house. “We don’t want him peeing on the porch now!” she said as I looked for something I could hide under. After the perfunctory dog talk -Cute dog; What is he/she?; How old?; My Fifi/Lulu/Carmen is five now, etc..-  that I’ve learned to exchange with people that have dogs (I occasionally get glimpses of a certain understanding Dog people have with other Dog people. Almost as if there were a secret set of social rules: Peoples names are not important. The dogs names are. You are known in dog circles as Pepe’s dad, Fifi’s mother, etc. There is a five minute rule where they -the dogs- are allowed to sniff and lick and you ask and listen to the socially acceptable dog questions), and Pepe being done with his business – the peeing, the sniffing, the chasing around in circles- I tried to get him to budge so we could continue our walk. After all, I also had my own friend waiting for me. I guess I’ve neglected to mention that part. Yes. I’m guilty, I have been exploiting little Pepe. Just a little bit though. This time I did most of the work. Sabrina needed new head shots. I needed a model for my photo class assignment. Pepe just clinched the deal: “Can I get some pictures with Pepe?” she asked. I told her Pepe really didn’t like sitting still for pictures but we could sure try.

Pepe and Sabrina

A letter from Daisy

Daisy

Dear Pepe,

I was first informed of the Malibu Pepe blog at the dog park when one of my friends brought it to my attention. Of course, I had to check it out myself. In my opinion, this you seem pretty pleased with himself, but youʼre cute enough that you should be. However,as a 13-year-old mini-Pom, I consider myself a veteran, and a bit of an expert in the art of being a Pom. Pepe the Puppy, welcome to the world of getting endless amounts attention for the rest of your life. Weʼre damn cute, but weʼre a small breed so itʼs easy to get picked on. With that, Iʼd suggest you listen to my words of wisdom:

1. Donʼt take lip from anyone
More often than tolerable, youʼll hear strangers asked your owner “Is that a dog?”Growl at them. Bark at them. Punish them. Bite a little of you have to. Weʼre small enough that they wonʼt take us away from our owners for biting (too bad for those larger Pit Bull breeds), but being feisty will get the point across. Yes, we are dogs. Not hamsters, not rats. We have a bite and a bark are not afraid to use it. Be aggressive and theyʼll never ask that stupid question again.

2. Work your cuteness
Puppy-dog eyes work for all dogs, but since weʼll always look like weʼre puppies, we can master these eyes and use them to the full extent. Trust me, Pepe. By flashing my adorable eyes at my owners, I have gotten better food (screw that Pedigree brand, by the way and always demand wet food), a spot on the bed, and I even drove another dog out of our house. You too can reap the same
benefits.

3. Be cordial to other Poms
So, youʼre probably a 9.5 on the looks scale (maybe a 10) and you may even be cuter than me. But, if my owners didnʼt let my hair get so matted Iʼd be up there with you. Anyway, make sure not to allow this blog to get to your head. We older Poms love you now and we support you, but we never had our own blog, and kept a level of humility well into our older years. If you start getting cocky, we may have to set you straight.

For now, love the blog. Iʼll see you around, and if youʼre ever in Hermosa Beach, shoot me a bark.

Best,

Daisy (iloveandhateyouhermosabeach.tumblr.comʼs dog)

Starbucks

As I left the Starbucks the night I ran into the little squirrel-dog and his new not-so-acute Pepperdine scholar owner I truly felt sad. The way the little dog was barely able to keep his small head up as his master’s new “friends” were petting him was truly a sorry sight.  I thought the little puppy might have a few extra days to live if he was lucky and hopefully he wouldn’t suffer too much. I was also starting to feel angry. Angry with myself for not keeping the puppy when the two girls who initially found him were trying to find someone who would take him. ANYBODY would have been able to take care of him better than Mr. Pepperdine Gigolo back there. Was I really going to be partly responsible for the puppy dying because I didn’t want my hardwood floors to get dirty? It’s a 3-pound dog! How big could his little poops have been? Even if they were huge and messy, I rent! I was actually felling angry with myself because I felt guilty! And, I felt very angry with Pepperdine Boy. If he managed to let that dog die… I was going to go back and take him. I walked from the parking lot back to the Starbucks. Hopefully a couple hundred dollars would be enough for Mr. Pepperdine to give away his little chick-magnet (and buy myself a clear conscience).

If he didn’t cooperate I could always pull the “grab the little puppy and run” technique. When I got to the door, I realized it was 10:05. Starbucks was closed.

First Things First…

I think that if I’m going to be blogging about a little dog and you guys are going to be learning a thing or two about me, I should first tell you how it came about that a 32 year old single hetero-sexual Mexican bi-lingual man who recently moved to Malibu, CA ended up owning a 3.3 lbs. Pomeranian. Most people don’t believe me when I respond to the question “Did you get him just to meet girls?” that: No, my main reason for getting Pepe was not to meet girls. For god’s sakes how was I to know he was going to turn out so cute? I actually just did a random act of kindness that paid off in the way of me getting a very cute little dog who has inadvertently taught me more about responsibility and “mature” relationships in the year that he’s been under my care than I probably ever would have been able to learn in therapy… or watching Dr. Phil everyday for a very long period of time.

Me and Pepe found each other almost a year ago. I was sitting at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf at the Cross Creek shopping center in Malibu having a conversation with a group of friends when two girls walked by carrying what appeared to be a little chipmunk. The creature was so cute, it made most people sitting outside the coffee shop curious enough to ask the girls what it was. It turns out it wasn’t a chipmunk but a very small puppy of indeterminate breed who had apparently gotten lost in Santa Monica and was wondering alone on the streets where the girls found him. The girls couldn’t keep him they said, but were willing to give him away to anyone who would offer him a good home. That was not me! Puppies meant work: They ate, they pooped, the didn’t sit still thru 12 hour poker games. He was cute though, and so were the two girls. I wished them and the little puppy good luck on finding a good place for him and said goodbye.

A few nights later around 10:00 pm I stopped by the Colony shops Starbucks to get a little jolt of caffeine before I started a game of poker. The little squirrel-dog was there! But, weren’t puppies supposed to need lots of sleep? He was in the hands of a young man who had apparently realized the value a cute puppy had as a magnet for the opposite sex. Apparently they’re only slightly above babies in their power to draw in the females except they’re much easier to get legally. A not so wise man once told me: “They’re like pollen to bees man.” It was working: the young guy, who I knew from seeing him around town, usually by himself, was now holding court with a handful of Pepperdine University coeds. But the puppy looked exhausted: Completely collapsed in his hands. As he saw me he blurted: ” Can you believe it? Some girls gave it to me for free!”

No… I couldn’t.