A History of Chihuahuas

As I look down at Boo,
curled in my lap, asleep and content,
I wonder: how did the tiny breed
stem from the powerful wolf?
I ask mi papá, who knows
this story.
He takes off his glasses,
rubs his eyes, smiles,
and starts:

The Mexican wolf.
It is strong, powerful, hungry.
One, a runt, easily left behind.
An old, withered grandmother carries
the runt back home,
feeds her from a plate,
names the pup Sophia,
(lost are the days of Fluffy or Fifi)
dresses it like a furry doll,
loves the lobo.

The Mexican farmer.
Snakes infest his fields,
making the scene a large, desert wasteland,
like one of the great Egyptian plauges,
but big dogs cannot be bothered by
petty snakes.
The runt wolf comes
digs, growls, yips.
The runt has slaughtered the snake,

carries the carcass back,
seeks praise.
The farmer thinks, he ponders,
about dead snakes.
Runt wolves.

The Mexican town,
Chihuahua, is no longer
plagued by snakes.
The small dog has fought them off,
braver than the wolves.
The dog is named Chihuahua,
after the town, and the
snakes are no more.
The Chihuahua is strong.
It hunts the snake.
Runt lobo no longer.

As I look down at Boo,
curled in my lap, asleep and content,
I wonder: did she kill the
snakes of Mexico?

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