Pudding Face

Pa likes to smile and say, "If you only knew, " when people tell him how adorable I am. I know Pa loves me, but I guess he's right. I have a few bad habits that people blinded by my cuteness just don't see. I just give them a couple of winks of my brown sugar eyelashes, grin, and shift ever so slightly to let the sun glint off of my silky white Maltese coat, and they forget any scruples they might have had with life. They might as well have jumped inside of a Disney movie starring yours truly.

I remember one time when Pa and I were walking in the Garden District, just across from the mid century modern furniture shop Pa always likes to look through the windows into. Pa and I had just rounded the corner from behind a squared hedge when we encountered an elegantly dressed older woman. I heard Pa say "shit" and he pulled on my leash as if to flee in the other direction. But it was too late. I say she was elegant, because she had this jacket with fur the same color as mine that seemed to hover about her, and she had this big bracelet that sparkled and jingled every time she moved her narrow wrists in these dramatic arcs. Her lipstick was bright red and caked on, contrasting deeply with her powdery face. She had straight shoulder length grey hair and horn-rimmed glasses. The moment she saw me, her crinkled face broke into a broad grin. "Oh heavens," she said with a syrupy southern drawl, leaning in to pet my head." What a darling, darling little dog. Just as cute as can be! What's your name?" I just grinned and let her see my tongue as I panted to show my gratitude. Pa said Fancy, nervously shifting his eyes left and right. "My what a perfect name for a perfect little dog. Why, darling, is that puddin' on your adorable little nose?" Her bony finger swabbed the tip of my nose as if for a finger full of frosting when she suddenly leapt back. Her face crumpled inward as she stammered backwards across the sidewalk. It was as if she had been assaulted. "That's disgusting! Jesus!" she shouted, shooting Pa an accusatory look, a look that was often reserved for the carpetbaggers and impoverished hipsters that were lately infesting her beloved district. Her hand was held far away from her body as if it had come in contact with a leper. "What kind of person let's his dog do that! Just hideous!" Pa just shook his head while giving me the look. He knew what was behind that hedge, what some drunkard who couldn't find a toilet left there, and what I couldn't resist taking a bite of as if from a bowl of chocolate pudding.