My District bestie, Kaitlyn Ferrara, is walking in this Washington D.C. charity event called "Fashion for Paws" with one freckle-faced shiba inu who you might know better by her work terrifying pooches at the Washington Square Park dog run. Don't let her sleepy Dior-lined eyes fool you; she's feisty. While writing a very similar, most color description of Miss Mia for Kaitlyn's charity happy hour invite, I got to thinking about Turkey en generalmente. Like, where did this Turkey even come from?

I met my first shiba inu my senior year of college on a trip to San Diego. My friend Pierre was staying with these people who had two dogs: one female hound/pit/lab mutt named Willie and a male shiba inu named Tosh. Confusing because Willie was short for like Wilma or something and Tosh was not short of Natasha because Tosh was a dude dog. Anyway, Tosh wanted nothing to do with Pierre, but enter three girls (myself + 2) and Tosh turned into a happy snuggle pup. Turns out, Tosh loved chicks. And we loved that sweet, foxy fox dog and his curly tail.

Then I moved to Manhattan and learned that fox dogs are good apartment dogs because they rarely bark and require little space. I walked around saying "Fox dog!" "Fox dog!" "Fox dog!" whenever I spotted one. I wanted a fox dog. 

Fast-forward. I was dating a musician with a lovely singing voice but aversion to exercise.  He used to go outside, get his shirt wet with the hose, then  come inside and pretend he had gone running. In all fairness, I might have told him that 80-year-old men run faster than him. It wasn't my kindest moment. Well, even with borderline man-boobs, he somehow managed to have this following of girls. Fans, if you will. Occasionally the fans were a bit close for comfort and on one such occasion, I received a Facebook message from a blonde named Corinne that read: "Your boyfriend wanted me to come over tonight and had I done it we certainly would have hooked up. I just found out he has a girlfriend. Sorry." Along with a barrage of message exchanges between she and my boyfriend. Gross.

I yelled for a long time. Some might even say I screamed. Until eventually, I broke up with him. The next day I received a call from him pleading, "Come over. Please just come over for five minutes. I have something for you. You don't have to stay and I know you hate me right now, but please come over. Just five minutes."

You see where this is going?

He opened the door to his bedroom and on a pillow on the floor was a red and white shiba inu puppy with a pink ribbon bow around her neck. She looked up at me with her freckle fox face. What was I supposed to do? I was twenty-three, and I was like "Awwwww. Ohhhhh. Our fammmmily." Gag. In retrospect, I should have taken dog and peaced. Mistakes were made.

Six months later I walked in on him in bed with someone else.

But the real point of the story is that out of a relationship laden in learning opportunities, I became the doting mother to a borderline brilliant, obviously beautiful and quite athletic shiba inu who loves the D-floor and like her mother, is a bit of a grinder. I used to brag on her princessness and other wonderful qualities, but then she just became and integrated part of me. Sure, I have no problem telling anyone, "My dog is smarter than yours... and probably you." But with time, I talk about her less and appreciate her more - for her relentless happiness, for her ironic aversion to men, because she won't last two minutes in a Halloween costume but will sit still while I paint her nails and best of all, for continuously reminding me that it's always a good time to dance.

Emma Dinzebach