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Aaaaaargh! Pomeraniaaaaaans!

You have to imagine me waving my fist in the air and screaming at the drizzling heavens while you read that headline. I am not a small-dog person by nature, and my encounters with them in the wide world of dogs have not improved their status in my mind. Especially pomeranians.

First, a historical tale. When I was young, there were a couple of poms that lived on my street. They were mean and able to get out of their yard. I don’t know how they did it, because I never saw them until they were biting my ankles and calves as I passed on foot or bike. They snarled and barked and bit like Satan’s own lap dogs.

Now for the current pom encounter. The other day it was dark and drizzly, as it will be for months to come in western Oregon, and I was tired. I didn’t want to run. But Danny did, so I geared up and clipped his leash on and we headed out into the dusk with my red blinker clipped to my pocket. Visibility, kids.

About halfway into our run, I heard an insanely loud flock of geese ahead of us on the trail. As we neared the sound, though, I realized it was a teenager with four pomeranians who had twisted their leashes together into two snarling masses of hair, one in either of the kid’s hands. A man pushing a wheelbarrow (what?) passed the dogs, and they sprang into the air like fluffy, barking popcorn.

Danny and I of course had to stop running until there was room on the trail to pass. The guy with the wheelbarrow passed us, and Danny growled, which is unusual. If I hadn’t been in such a foul mood, I would have checked the wheelbarrow for a body, but I was too irritated to worry about creepy dudes. There were pomeranians to be dealt with.

I called to the kid, “Could you move into the grass so we can pass?” but he couldn’t hear me over the sound of his yapping flock. He did look at me, then continued to meander along. I’m wearing running tights and my dog is built like a marathoner. Does that say nothing to you? It apparently did not.

When the dogs were quiet for a few seconds, I called again. This time he did hear me, and he moved into the grass. A little. Not enough. Nor did he choke up on the twisted leashes. So when Danny and I came by, my hand nearly at his collar, the pomeranians lunged and barked and did their fluffy snarling popcorn bit. Danny lunged and snarled back, which looks a lot scarier when he does it.

I got Danny’s attention back on me, calmed him down, and brought him to heel. He got a treat for being calm, and we went back to running as fast as we could away from god-awful poms.

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One response »

  1. I hate to laugh but as soon as I saw the title I couldn’t help myself. I don’t like Pomeranians very much either. While I normally don’t like breed-specific finger pointing, these little fluffballs drive me insane. Mostly because their nasty behaviour is much too frequently tolerated and even encouraged by their owners.

    Once I walked past a women who was actually telling her pom to keep barking at us because it was her dog’s territory. Verbatim, “Yeah, you tell them, Muffy, this is your street, not theirs.” Can you beat that?

    I am wary around most small dogs in general, but poms put my back up more than even Chihuahuas do, and those dogs can be downright mean.

    Reply

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