The Domesticated Maya

Dust. Ragweed. I guess that something along those lines was the answer I expected all along. Instead, I found myself staring at a two page list of foods, plants, insects and words that even Webster’s Dictionary cowers in the face of, accompanying six tiny color coded vials. My tiny, sweet, little pug, Maya, has been suffering for nearly two years with chronic allergies affecting her skin, ears, and paws. Due to various moves and environmental changes, we have had to wait for what has seemed like an eternity to get her vaccines made so that she can start having some relief that I don’t have to wrap in a snausage for her twice a day. I was expecting something easier than giving her shots for the rest of her life. I thought they would tell us to buy a better air purifier or be more diligent about dusting… or even to closer examine our outdoor plant life. Now I found myself feeling bad for Maya yet again.
Maya is the sweetest creature on the planet. There isn’t a bad bone in her body. Her nick-name, Mia-Pia, means “My Contented One” and it couldn’t be more perfect. When things are going badly for her, all she wants is a warm lap and a nice nap. The same could be said for anyone having a rough day and there is nothing better than laying your head on the pillow and feeling her warm little face snuggle up against yours. Why this poor little thing suffers so constantly with allergies is a constant source of grief for my husband and I. My relief is that now we know what is wrong and are looking at the culprits printed up on paper. I am hoping beyond hope for a more comfortable existence for her and I can’t help but wonder what would become of her in the wild.
As it is, pugs don’t strike me as the type of dog that would ever have had any sort of survival skills. Lap dogs to the core, they were bred to adorn the thrones of Chinese royalty and they haven’t come much farther on the ol’ career path since. But weren’t all dogs “wild” in some form at one point? Poor Maya, with her allergy to chicken, turkey, and any other bird one could imagine, would probably have to develop a taste for vegetarianism. I can’t imagine my “barely as large as a shoe” dog wrestling a cow to the ground. I’m pretty certain that unless she somehow managed to lick the cow to death, a beef meal would not be so easy to come by. I can, however, imagine her using her adorable little face to coerce a lion to bring her a herd of dinner (Because in my fantasy world, lions, pugs, and cows share a habitat). If nothing else, she has a way about her that results in her getting exactly what she wants from people and pets alike. Maya has never had to fight for treats, bones, or the best spot on the fluffiest pillow. Born the only puppy to her litter, she had her little pug mama all to herself and spent her evenings nestled in the bed of the dog breeder… not something you hear of happening often. When she was placed on a dietary dog food that she detested, my other dog would actually bring her mouthfuls of his own food. Truly, no one can resist the charms of Maya.
We look at animals as if they are stupid—lower forms of life. But what do we really know, anyway. Every being on this earth is equipped with a natural instinct and a way for survivability. I just can’t imagine what Maya’s is. After all, she is allergic to a dogs easiest outdoor meal and the Planet Earth, in general. So what am I to make of this list of reactionable offenses from Bermuda grass to Palm trees, from ants to soybeans? I suppose for Maya, survival would come to her as it does to a busty blonde in need of a fancy home and small fortune supplied by a dwindling, but lucrative older man. Lucky for her she will always have someone to take care of her and love her and keep all the evil chicken away. I hope to report in the coming months that she has improved ten-fold with her new allergy injections and is a happy, healthy, itch free girl once again.