BEEWOLF's picture coming
                     BeeWolf's Dog Stories

Chapter 1:  Somewhere Along the Road: the big life of a little
  Beewolf's life  holds an epitaph in memory: "Hold your ground with all your four pounds of might." He
showed that spirit from the moment the kid walked up while I was fueling my motor coach at some
small town somewhere along the road. "Ma'am, mom says I have to get homes for these right away."  In
the box were two furry creatures the size of hamsters. "My aunt's Pomeranian got loose and my uncle's
Yorkie is to blame."  I took the tiniest, a small golden red creature with bright eyes.  Another person took
the other.  
He weighed 3 ounces when the veterinarian weighed him and estimated him to be only about 4 weeks
old. I fed him with an eyedropper and a formula for orphaned puppies. He wanted life, loved life, so he
thrived, never refusing an ounce of food.  He even drank down medicine as though it were some
heavenly nectar, not minding that it tasted bitter or sweet.
As he grew over the weeks, I plugged up all the holes around pipes or outlets in my motor coach,
because he was so tiny he could've slipped into the underbelly of it. Adventurous, he was thrilled with
the world around him, and his lovely sociable nature found my poodle James to be a marvelous cohort
in doggie mischief.  As he hit 5 ounces he had found a way to get up onto the sofa.  It was a mystery to
me until one day I watched as he yelped up at the poodle, and James dropped his ear over the edge of
the sofa. Without hesitation Beewolf climbed James' curly ear to the top and curled up for warmth.  
He got his name because he could snap up a bee so fast the bee had no time to sting or react.  Well,
that and the fact I was reading Beowulf in graduate school and thought it an appropriately ironic name
for such a  tiny dog.  The yard would be covered with bees and dandelions one minute and devoid of
them 5 minutes after he got out there.  He loved flowers and bees and James Poodle and food. They
became "foodies" together.  I discovered one of their forages when I found that they had climbed the
sofa to the counter where I kept a very full fruit bowl.  There were two bites out of each piece of fruit, one
James-sized and one Bee-sized.  James even learned to open the coach refrigerator and raid the
vegetable compartment for the lettuce they both loved.  James Poodle also snatched towels from the
rack to make them a little bed at night.    
The only yorkie in Bee was well-hidden under his true Pomeranian self.  Except for a  bit more point to
his ear tips,  he was golden red, curly tail, and an undercoat that killed my vacuum cleaner several times
over. The slicker brush filled up with enough creamy fur to create another dog.  He strutted, proud, never
realizing he would only be 4.6 pounds in his whole lifetime.  In his mind he was a very large dog, the
warrior king Beowulf protecting his tribe which consisted of myself, one poodle, and the two little
schnauzers someone had dumped.  All adopted him as a tiny annoyance, except for James poodle,
who became best pal all of his life.

2008 DJ Thompson  
Chapter Two:  BeeWolf and the Hotcha Cha-Cha Mexican Café

Beewolf adapted instantly to life in a motor coach, and by the time he was big enough to actually resemble a dog he had become a foodie,
a Pomeranian/Yorkie mix with a gut an alligator would envy.  He loved dining out, especially on class days at the university where I
attended.  Secluded in his Sherpa traveling case with its small mesh panels,  Beewolf  attended class by quietly snoozing  as the
professor droned away in the lecture.  After class, we would join a friend at a local café that featured a variety of Hispanic foods, chicken,
steak, and a rollicking Happy Hour.   I would hang the Sherpa carrier on the chair next to me and no one ever seemed to notice it wasn’t
really a back pack of sorts. Bee seemed understand the precariousness of travel in his “backpack” and never let out a sound, but I could
see two bright little eyes watching carefully, and I’m certain he was thinking, “Psst! Order the chicken, the CHICKEN!”  I ordered the chicken.
One late afternoon, we sat next to a table with four businessmen who were enjoying a really happy hour quaffing down Margaritas and
behaving rudely to our waiter.   One man looked over at the Sherpa just as Beewolf moved.  The man leaned in, peered through the small
mesh opening, and as bloodshot eyes met tiny bright Beewolf eyes, “Lady, your bag is moving.  What’s in there?”  I don’t know what is so
scary about the words “boa constrictor” but it can clear a table of inebriated businessmen within moments.   Beewolf got his chicken for
dinner and a bit extra, pieces of steak tucked in the doggie bag by a grateful waiter who kept our secret.  
Graduation over and master’s degree in hot little hand and paws, Beewolf, J Poodle, Addie  and Zooey Schnauzer and I began our life as
full time RVers, following hot southern highways,  the blue roads where the center line looks like silver stitches, buying and preparing our
own foods from fresh vegetable and fruit stands.  I created recipes for homemade kibbles and dog cookies and prepared them in our
convection oven.  One of my best memories is of Beewolf eating his kibbled chicken from his little bowl as he stood on the dashboard of
our parked coach, enjoying his own “dashboard café.”  
Chapter 3 more adventures of Beewolf’s life coming

D.J. Thompson  Copyright 2008-2012