January 11, 2002

Dear Tiny Dog,

You ask, in your latest rant, where your joy has gone. Joy is not a thing to be misplaced. It cannot be hidden under discarded jackets like errant car keys. It cannot be overlooked like thousands of ballots cast by blacks and latinos at the Florida polls. Joy is a spiritual and emotional state, and as such in this plane of being, either exists or does not exist.

So let us posit that your joy has yet to come into being.

Then, the question to ask becomes "How can I cultivate my joy, that is, encourage my soul and spirit to burst forth with flowers of contentment?"

Simply, you need a soulmate, a being to whom you are inextricably linked. In your case, you must immediately seek the society of a chihuahua, possibly to be named Dixie. Do not allow negative influences coming from others in your life to deceive you and separate you from your joy-filled destiny. Know that crankiness, irritability, and nervousness will rule your existence until the coming of the chihuahua.

You must be at one with the chihuahua. You must buy the chihuahua sweaters. You must photograph the chihuahua in a series of humorous poses. You must discuss your hopes, dreams, and future plans with the chihuahua. Not to be fatalistic, but you will never achieve Nirvana (the state of being, not the grunge band) until you pass into the ultimate Joy of the Chihuahua.

Here is one place where you can make the acquaintance of a chihuahua: http://www.dotsonschihuahuas.com/generic.html?pid=2

Peace be with you.

John Cecil & Michelle Lee

____________________________

Dear John and Michelle,

That tiny dog lacks a true grasp on the nature of joy without a tiny dog is a concept not lost on the tiny dog staff. It is in fact the guiding irony of the site, as a past rant, Tiny dogs and more tiny dogs, may remind you.

The three reasons for the lack of tiny dog cited in this rant have tragically remain unchanged, and shall do so for, in all likelihood, the near future, driving a temporary but very real wedge between me and my tiny dog dreams.

Thus I must look elsewhere for The Joy, perhaps into the crumb-y bottom of a box of football-shaped game-day cheez-its, perhaps into the dusty gum wrappery dregs of the cup holder in my car, hoping and hoping to find some smaller joy to tide me over in the meantime.

Signed,

tiny dog.

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