Like I Was Saying...
One of these days, I'll tell Chevy's story and how she came into our home. It's pretty good.
But don't let her cuteness deceive you. Chevy is nuts.
My dad used to wait to give our pets a name. He had to get a sense of the animal before naming it. Like we once had a cat named "Kelly." That was her English name. Her real name was que le importa.
It always seemed that when there was a fight going on in the house, Que Le would pop her head in to see what was going on. And my dad would look at the cat and ask, "Que le important." Which loosely translates to asking, "what is it to you?"
It may take me a while, but I will try to convince Lucy and Marcos to change Chevy's name to Cocaina or Coco. Why?
Cocaina flys through the air like a spider monkey and attacks our poor dogs. We got five. And it doesn't matter to Cocaina which dogs she attacks, either the two poodles, the Cocker Spaniel or the German Shepard.
It was cute at first, but she goes after them with ferocity. If the dogs bore here, she goes after everything in God's creation.
Don't ask me why, but there was a pool noodle in the master closet that looked like it's been savaged by termites, but it was Cocania's little claws.
I don't know if I should have a poll to either keep Chevy's name (which again is a major part of how she came to live in this house) or whether to call her by what she truly is - furry cocaine.