How does something like this happen to a nice girl like me? Actually, it's more common than you'd think. About 5% of the population qualifies for diagnosis with this personality disorder, so take the number of gay friends you have (they're 10% of the population) and halve it, and that's how many sociopaths you know.
And one of the sociopaths I know is my 10-pound chihuahua-mix dog, FiFi.
You must be joking, I hear you say. That sweet little big-eyed angel couldn't possibly be a sociopath, but I took her to the vet for a tooth-cleaning yesterday and it all came together for me; I realized what was going on in that black-and-white head of hers.
Contrary to popular belief, most sociopaths don't go out and kill people (although they would if they thought that they could get away with with it, and Fi definitely would off next door's cat if she thought she could). No, they act pretty much like anybody else.
So what are the most common symptoms?
1. Risk-Taking
2. Charm
3. Manipulation
And, let me quote the clinical psychologist Martha Stout here:
4. 'The most reliable sign, the most universal behaviour of unscrupulous people is not directed, as one might imagine, at our fearfulness. It is, perversely, an appeal to our sympathy.'
Let's look at FiFi's behaviour at the vet's with this in mind.
Risk-Taking
Fi has always believed that the best way to cope with traffic is to run straight into and let the drivers sort out the rest. For this reason, I had to carry her across every street we came to on our way to the vet.
But when we cut through the park and she saw another dog that she wanted to bully, she jumped right out of my arms regardless of the fact that she was about twenty feet up (in chihuahua feet, that is).
Then she raced up to huge, hideous Staffordshire Terrier (they're like pit bulls, but taller) and told him exactly what she thought of his face, breath, and dress sense (none of it was especially flattering).
She does this a lot to big dogs, especially with Rottweilers and Doberman Pinschers. Maybe she has a thing about Germans.
Charm
We got to the vet and Fi batted her eyes at the room in general. I'm not speaking metaphorically here either, she literally bats her eyes at people, like Bugs Bunny does when he's in drag to trick Elmer Fudd.
'Aaaaaaaaaaw,' said the receptionist and immediately rushed around the desk to give FiFi a big hug.
The vet tech came out to see what was happening and, 'AAAAAAW,' she said taking FiFi from the receptionist to give her big kisses.
Finally the vet came out, 'I need you to sign this release form,' he said. Well, he's a man. But he did spend considerable time rubbing her tummy. Case closed.
Manipulation
Pot-stirring, instigating, 'the games people play' -- call it what you will, Fi does it better than seventh-grade girl with a grudge.
Her preferred manipulee is her younger, more genial 'brother' Archy the Brussels Griff. God love him, he's a good-lookin' guy, and he's far from dense, but in NO WAY is he any match for Fi's wiles.
We took Archy with us to the vet because Fi is better behaved outside when he's with her. Interestingly, he's worse behaved when he's with her. Walking Arch alone, he doesn't bark, he doesn't chase joggers or try to swallow styrofoam food containers. Walking with her -- well, these things are not entirely unheard of.
On our walk home I had to carry Miss Fi in a doggy-carrier/pocketbook-thing, because the vet says she's not allowed to walk for three days. Plus, she's groggy from the sedation.
She can't do her own terrorizing of redonkulously outsized opponents, so every time we see another canine, Fi whines this little whine, which I swear means, 'Oh my Gawd, Arch, did you heah what he just said about yawr mothuh?'
And Archy goes RARARARARARARARARARARAR at the other dog until I have to grab him by the collar, apologize to the owner, and drag him away.
Fi, meanwhile, folds her paws and smirks.
The Play for Sympathy
So we're walking home, Archy is barking at everything he sees, and it's taking us an hour to make the 20-minute walk across the park because EVERYONE in the park needs to stop us and inquire after the health of our delicate blossom. Allow me a brief playlet:
Dog-Walking Friend: Oh no, what happened to FiFi?
Me: She's okay, she just had her teeth cleaned.
DWF (cooing): Oh, it must be so frustrating for her not getting her usual walk.
FIFI arranges herself to drape more languishingly over the side of the bag. She keeps the front leg with the bandage from her sedation in prominent view.
Random Stranger: What happened to your dog? Did she break a leg?
Me: No, she's fine, she can walk again in a couple days.
RS (too lost in Fi's eyes to hear a word I say): Poor little thing, it must be so hard for her with the other one down there walking as usual.
Fi yawns preciously and recieves a tender head-pat and concerned clucking noises.
Old Lady: Aw, look at the little love. Is she poorly? Here, I just bought these for my doggie.
She hands me a dog treat of an appropriate size for a Neapolitan Mastiff. FI licks her chops.
Fi: Aaaaah yes, it is well.
FIN.
So, the point is just this, FiFi HATES WALKING LIKE POISON. And to say she 'likes' riding in her bag is like saying that Dylan Thomas 'liked' the odd, occassional alcoholic beverage now and again.
She will go through any amount of whining, pawing and general shennanigans to get me to pick her up and tote her around like she's a rajah and I'm her personal elephant.
I've spent years training her out of the habit. But she's not above looking depressed and languid and last-little-girl-to-be-picked-up-from-play-group about riding in her favourite bag if it gets her that extra drop of sympathy from her audience.
Oh, she's good, I'll give her that.
Problem is, knowing Fi has a severe personality disorder that could easily escalate into a full-scale chihuahua crime empire in the future does nothing, repeat nothing to immunize me from her ploys.
I confidently predict that when she starts whining and pawing at 4 am tomorrow, I'll hop up in the full belief that it's 7:30 and I should get her breakfast. Most often, I don't wake up enough to find out the actual time 'til I've finished feeding her.
People, a final word of advice: learn from my example and avoid buying pets that are smarter than you are.
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