The Queen of Shiba

I have just finished spending a lovely Memorial Day weekend. There were steaks to be shared, long walks to be enjoyed, a very wonderful game of European Football in the park (with my very own regulation soccer ball), and several drives to and fro. There was also time to supervise yard work, and sleep in the sun, particularly as The Woman and That Guy have now started their summer cocktail hour once again. The unofficial start of summer has begun, and I am pleased.

However, I must relay a story that will shock. 'Tis a tale of disbelief, but yet. I have recovered from this traumatic experience. It is a tale that would freeze any Shiba's blood, one that divides the Real Shibas from the Wannabes.

What started off as being a nice long walk through our residential neighborhood, was interrupted in horror. As we approached a street corner, a minivan pulled around and stopped right in front of The Woman and me. The door opened. Out jumped three small children and two Shibas. There were also The Others who came out and screamed happily about seeing another Shiba and while The Woman spoke to The Others, I had three children attach themselves like Velcro.

In the meantime, the Black and Tan Male Shiba attempted to show his dominance by peeing on a nearby tree. I tried to move away, but I was being held hostage by six small hands and a very tight leash. When this BTMS decided to move closer, I decided to show him that this was my neighborhood and he needed to respect my reign over these lands.

That is, until The Queen presented herself.

The Red Shiba was a 14 year midget of manginess, with an almost white face and the stiffened walk of something wearing an overstarched fur coat. She walked up to the three kids, the BTMS, The Woman and myself, and surveyed the situation with such an undeniable air of regal authority that all six of us were stopped in a moment of time. She walked around in her elderly manner. The children reached out and petted her. The BTMS immediately laid down. The Woman offered The Queen her hand, and the Queen ordained it possible for The Woman to touch her head.

Then, the Queen turned and looked at me.

I was surrounded. There was no hope. I had no back-up, no chance of leaping forward, no support from any party present. I had to submit. The Queen marched around and sniffed "my area" and I stood there, accepting the situation for what it was. There is a greater force out there, and She travels with a strong pack.

Fortunately, the Queen and her entourage were only passing. While the entire ordeal took a few minutes, my entire life passed before my eyes. All the dogs I had dominated, every morsel I had consumed, every marking I left was all in vain as there was one Shiba who stood out mightier than myself, and she had a crowd to support her every whim.

I finished my walk in silent, retrospective thought. While I can accept that there is one stronger and mightier, she is older and requires a larger army to accomplish her goals. Me? I am still young and strong, requiring only myself to subdue the masses. But before The Woman and I resumed our constitutional and as the van of The Queen et al. drove off into the sunset, I peed on the tree that the BTMS marked early in our exchange. I was not going to let that opportunity pass.



I Am Shiba. I Am An Army Of One.