Los Conquistadors

 You don't separate brothers.

Cocoa and Latte wound up at Animal Humane when their owner had to go to a care facility. They knew, I think, that they might be parted, or worse.

And then Barb showed up. "Two Chihuahuas? Sure, no problem!"

They enjoy their life, and so do we.

This is Cocoa. He likes to walk upright (remember, he's nine years old). Please pardon the background... we're cleaning!

Chihuahuas running to and fro,

Chihuahuas dancing hither, yon,

Chihuahuas always on the go,

Chihuahuas rise before the dawn

sounding like a car alarm,

"Let us out, we mean RIGHT NOW,

or we'll do your ears more harm,

leaving you to ask just how

two tiny dogs could come so fast

to rule what had been ordered place,

to upend first unto the last

and ensure you call it grace,

and thus by now it should be clear,

it's our world, you just live here."

When you look at the south end of a northbound Chihuahua, you'll see the Chihuahua Bounce, an insouciant hip-swingy prance.

It's catching. Daughtrie, our somewhat ancient Blue Heeler, now walks like that.

So does Barb.

With Chihuahuas, it's always Manic Monday.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is VISION. Easy.

The vision of Chihuahuas

is quite easy to see,

just give them enchiladas

and then please let them be,

for they have not been bred to share

their food, or of blessings bestowed,

and they truly do not care

what other canines think are owed.

Belle the Wolf has now been tamed,

The Killers are embarrassment,

for the Dogs Who Won't Be Named

are not in the least content

until they rewrite God's own laws

and the world is subject to their paws.

Three minutes, ChiChi supervision.

The Killers are twin sisters, Ridgeback-Pit mixes. They were the first to surrender to Cocoa and Latte, crawling, humiliatingly, on their bellies.

Sylvia's ice cream, though, won't be rushed.

Unless the Chichi's will have it.