Maltese?

I'm trying to square memories of Nicholai with images of diminutive white fluff balls called "Maltese." Lapdogs of royalty for centuries, it's impossible for me to find a remnant of this 4-7 pound doglet in my nearly hundred pound personal protector and rabbit eater. Maltese – really?

Don't get me wrong, I find lapdogs cute and cuddly. I imagine one day in a few decades a petite canine will be the perfect companion for this will-be old lady. The thing is, Nicholai was a great big, burly, wild, watchful, sometimes fierce, large, black buddy. How would a Maltese ever get in there? It just wouldn't be right.

The other oddity is that we knew Nicholai's parentage on the maternal side. Mom was what any person with half an education in dog breeds would label a "pitbull." And while pitbull is more a type than a strict breed, with lots of breed tweaking going on in back yards, I doubt any breeder of pitbulls anywhere at any time added a dab of Maltese to his or her line of dogs. I suppose the Dachshund might have gotten together with the Maltese over a back fence somewhere back in the ancestral lineage – at least it is a physical possibility.

We laughed about it when Nicholai was here, so implausible it seemed that he was descended from a pocket-sized prince of a toy dog. I know genetics are complicated and genes might or might not express themselves for generations, showing up as a blue eye, or a curled tail, or a splash of white in a black coat.

Mostly moot now that he's gone, we just chuckle at how Maltese Nicholai wasn't.