The Puppy Files: A Tail's Tale

Welcome to the fourth installment of The Puppy Files; the series where I beguile you, my loyal readers, with stories from my life before I began this blog.

Growing up, I had a rather strained relationship with my tail.  You see, very early on, I noticed that it had stalker like tendencies.  Everywhere I went (and I mean everywhere...the park, the toy store, my crate, etc) it was there, trailing along behind me.  And if its stalker like tendencies weren't disturbing enough, I also had to deal with the fact that it seemed to have a mind of its own.  You see, whenever I was up to no good, my tail would start beating up against whatever I was standing next to and alert the family of my naughtiness.  See?  Not only was it constantly following me, but it was also tattling on me (or should that be TAIL-tling?)

Anyway aside from learning at an early age that my tail was no good, I also learned that my family didn't really seem share my concerns.  In fact, if they had to choose sides, I would guess that they would have chosen my tail.   Perhaps it was the aforementioned fact that it alerted them to my bad behavior, but in hindsight, I think it might have been that my tail did not bite (the other end of my body, as my loyal readers know, had a bit of a propensity for biting).  Honestly, I don't think I can blame them.  As I've said before, I was a nasty little puppy.

Whip-Like Tail

Starting to Grow In

Realizing that I had to deal with my tail problem on my own, I decided that the best and easiest course of action was to yank it clean off.  When I was really small and had a whip-like tail, this involved reaching across my body, grabbing hold of the tail itself and, while trying not to fall over (I was a bit roly-poly which resulted in balance issues), pulling with all my might.  When I got a little older and my tail hair started growing in, I would reach across my body, grab hold of the fur, and, while trying, once again, not to fall over (perhaps I'm just clumsy), pull out chunks of hair.  Then I'd spit the fur onto the floor before going in for another chunk.

My family was absolutely horrified by this behavior.  Whenever they saw me yanking on my tail they would rush over, pry my tail out of my mouth, and ask me what my tail ever did to deserve such treatment (I thought the answer was kind of obvious--I guess you need a tail to understand).  So what does a smart (and devilishly handsome) puppy do in such a situation?  He waits patiently until his family leaves the house before attempting to settle the score with his tail!  But even this plan wasn't fool proof.  You see, when my family wasn't around, I was free to tug on my tail all I wanted, but I was never able to keep them from figuring out what I had been up to while they were away.  The piles of long tail fur on the floor not to mention the unevenness of the fur still connected (then, of course, there was the slobber) always gave me away.

A Fine Example of a Tail

Over the years, my tail and I have reached a strained yet functioning relationship.  I leave it alone and it tries not to get stuck in closing doors or stepped on.  I've been told that my dad (my four legged dad, not my two legged dad) had a similar issue with his tail when he was a pup, but that he eventually outgrew it too.

I still don't like my tail, but he and I have figured out how to co-exist.