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  • This is Suga pronounced Shu Ga as a waitress might say on ole Route 66. She didn’t come to me with this name. She came as Minnie to match her partner’s name Mickey whose name fits with his little Shnauzer beard and If It’s Not Scottish It’s Crap disposition. Yet, Minnie is far from Mini. There is always something in her mouth…kibble, socks, shoes and, her personal favorite, razors she would find on the floor of my shower before I got wise and started putting them up.

    When she doesn’t have something in her mouth, she rolls over and opens her legs. Nope, Disney would find her undemure, not quite the lady that he intended Minnie to be. And when she rolls over and opens her legs, the belly she reveals rivals Buddha in its girth. She squirms around until you pet it and jiggle it around. Her tongue rolls out of mouth. She, then, snorts.

    So, I called her Minnie for a while; Then, I toyed with calling her a host of names…but nothing seemed to fit this creature with the stomach almost bigger than her squat legs.

    Then, on a day when Mickey insisted that we take a walk in the park across the street, I let them both off their leash to run free. Mickey surveyed the trees with his nose to figure out which of them needed his mark. Not Minnie…instead she ran into the shrubbery.

    “Minnie, Minnie, come back,” I begged.


    Instead I saw the shrubbery move as her body tore through the bush.

    “Minnie, Minnie, come back to us,”” I asked again.

    The shrubbery stopped moving for a moment; I grew scared.

    Then, pow, she emerged from the bush with one big thud.

    She was not alone. In her mouth was a sandwich, a submarine sandwich at that. Her mouth barely could hold the two big buns, but she was intent on making it work.

    “Where did you get that?” I laughed.

    She threw the sandwich on the ground, devoured it fast.

    This is when Suga came to mind.

    “That’s your name, Suga!”

    With crumbs in her snout, she rolled over with wide open legs.

    “And a Dirty Suga at that!”

    I knelt down to jiggle her belly to help that sub go down.

    “What do you think of that? Dirty Suga? Is that your name?”

    Several little snorts came out of her snout.

    So, Dirty Suga it is…Suga for short. It was on that day that Mickey and I finally figured it out. Every day since, we have been thankful she doesn’t have thumbs because she doesn’t realize nor does she care that others also need food.

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