Growing up Pekingese

As the grandchild of Merle and Eileen Jensen, I've grown up hearing numerous stories about these fantastically eccentric and brilliant family dogs. Mostly, the breed happened to be German shepherd; German shepherds that would do funny things like eat false teeth or cruise the neighborhood visiting neighbors before returning home with a fresh and bloody steak in the jowl.

I never knew my grandparents when these famous (or at least notorious) dogs were around and, instead, am left with memories of Nana's "replacement breed," the un-brilliant and grunty (maybe eccentric) little Pekingese. My cousin, Kristopher, called them "the whistle pigs." Because the breed is Chinese, they always have had names that are, at least in Nana's opinion, culturally compatible: Ty-Ling, My-Ling, Mee-Shoo,Me-Too, Mai-Thai, etc. Of course, I have no idea how to spell these names, but you get the picture. Nana and Bobob called them "the kids" and every morning-before daylight- Bobob would wake up and walk "the kids." It was the ritual start of his daily routine at the house in Grand Junction.

As a child, I never understood why he got up so early to walk dogs that looked like their faces had been smashed into a brick wall. He had these retractable leashes that would click in the hallway as he'd tip-toe past us sleeping in the bedrooms, but the little dog grunts would always wake me up. He was never gone long, but it was usually light out by the time he returned. And now that I have learned to rise with the morning light like my Bobob used to, I finally understand that even if it's just to take "the kids" for a walk, the light on the Colorado National Monument during sunrise is the most magical and warming light a human can feel. My grandparents live in a sacred place. I wish I could have gone for those morning walks with Bobob and the little "whistle pigs."