I’ve had dogs all of my life. I’m a dog person. I like the energy, the interactivity and the friendliness of dogs. But I’ve recently found a wrinkle in the dog owning experience that has taken my level of personal enjoyment as a dog owner through the roof.

Let me start off by saying that my first name is not Paris, Lindsay or Paula. As far as I know, I am not a celebrity (even in my own mind). Yet, through a series of events, I’ve discovered that I LOVE tiny dogs. In the past, I’ve owned what most people would call small dogs. I’ve loved a cairn terrier (Boomer, we called him “the chuck roast of hope” due to his upbeat attitude and sturdy physique.) I currently worship a Bichon Frise, (Buster, so named for his predilection for running into things, a 20 pound lump of neediness.) Less recently there were other small canines, all of whom I adored.

I’ve taken some joshing about my preference for small, what some people would call, “froofy”, dogs, and it has never bugged me. I’m a small dog person, I know it, and no one’s going to convince me I should be co-habitating with a Labrador. But recently, my parents acquired a dog that has changed my whole idea of what constitutes a small dog… and taught me that smaller, for me, is better.

After the death of their beloved Maltese, Rocky, my parents were in the market for a new Malti. I helped them search on the internet, and after much ooh-ing and ahh-ing over pictures of puppies, we found a breeder a couple of hours away who:

1.     Had the most beautiful puppies we’d ever seen.

2.     Had a fabulous attitude regarding his dogs and a reassuringly professional website.

3.     Was totally, absolutely, out of our price range.

Rocky was twelve years old when he passed away, and it had been a while since we stuck a toe in the pedigreed dog pricing world. We were shocked to see that many breeders were charging upwards of $5000 for their puppies. I’d pay a million bucks for a great puppy, but I don’t have it. We didn’t have 5K either.