“I’ve never met a dog that didn’t make me smile.” — Francyne Ellison, founder #furLifeLiving

From the minute we glanced at this cute little furry puppy, we knew she was coming home with us.  She was only eight weeks old and the only little furry girl standing up, wagging her tail and barking in a cage full of sleeping puppies.  Of course, we didn’t know then that her alertness was a sign of what lay ahead.  Instead, we immediately asked the clerk if we could see “that cute little fluffy black one.”  Instantly, we were in love.  At that time, we already had a house full.  But she was so little, and the people at the store reassured us that this new “designer breed” Yorkie-Poo would not get much bigger than the four-pounds-of-fur that sat perfectly in the palm of my hand.

My plan was to tote my new baby around in a trendy doggie bag and jet set out and about with her right by my side.

Unfortunately, that didn’t work out.  Even with her tucked completely out of sight in a tote bag, Tha Konga has a tendency to get us kicked out of every place we go with her loud, non-stop barking.  It got to the point where we’d have to spell out certain words just to communicate because we noticed they were triggers for her relentless, noisy tirades.  Playdates?  Not our girl.  Sadly, they always ended early.  At the dog park, people would graciously pack their kids and dogs up and move to the other side of the park or another bench because Konga would chase and run down all the little diva doggies her height.  These fur-parents were unpleased with having their pooch’s perfectly coifed hair and outfits tumbled upon by our little black furry engine.

We really did want Tha Konga to fit in and be welcomed wherever we went.  So, we bought her a pink dress, thinking it would make her act the part.  She outright refused to walk in it. (‘…Something about… she is a wolf, and all the other real dogs will laugh at her…’)

Well, five years and an extra 12 pounds later, our Konga proudly holds the crown for being the cutest and loudest fluffy poopy around.  Whether she eats the cat’s food or our food or occasionally helps herself to the poop in the litter box (until we had the foresight to move the cat food to higher ground), she is still my running buddy.  So, if you ever see me, you’ll hear her happily by my side because she is, after all, my little “designer breed” Yorkie-Poo.