Lady and the Tramp

by Emily

It was my 18th birthday last month and among other presents, I received a stuffed dog (the sort no one ever wins in carnival games) the size of a small car.

While I was stewing over the late arrival of a few friends to my birthday dinner, these same friends were squishing (very gently, I might add) my puppy into my normal sized fie passenger car.  Along with my new puppy, what must be as many as 30 miniature toy dogs were littered along my front and back dashboards.

To top the whole ensemble off, my car was then wrapped in a giant piece of paper (onto which they had written a cute note) so that I couldn’t see what was inhabiting my car.

I almost cried.  It was ridiculous.  I’d asked for a dog, and not only gotten one (albeit a stuffed animal rather than a real one, but beggars cannot be choosers), but also gotten more little dogs than any one person could know what to do with.

The puppy’s name is Tramp, after the song in Lady and the Tramp “He’s a Tramp”; it seems fitting.

Everyone that comes into my room and sees him (he’s impossible to miss, the proverbial white elephant) remarks on how adorable he is, and most either curl up in his (enormous) lap or climb atop his (giant) head and perch, king of the room.

I’ll add a picture of him next I get the chance, I need to figure out a way to get a good one of him as well as his size relative to the rest of the world.