I never understood small-dog owners. Then I became one. Living on a dog ranch, you can imagine I've seen more than my share of dogs. Many of the common breeds, about every shape of mutt, and yes, even the new "custom mutts." In general though, I was a big-dog lover. Until the day Noodle wandered onto our property, making his entrance by coming out from under the car when my husband stopped to check the mail. He was a little guy, only about nine pounds, but he was full of personality. One look and I was in love. We immediately headed for the pet store, because I didn't own any tiny dog collars or supplies.

Once there, a woman stopped me and said, "Oh look! A Chiweenie!"

I was like, "What?"

"A Chiweenie," she repeated herself. "You know, a Chihuahua and a Dachshund! They cost $500 to $1,000."

"Well, this guy was free," I said.

Looking back, I'm pretty sure he had wandered down from a nearby trailer park. We reported him found and never saw signs posted that he was missing. We saw loose dogs in the area that looked like distant relatives, but we figured Noodle's life would be better with us.

He was only about six months when we found him, and he's well over twelve years old now. He has been our faithful companion, resident lap warmer, and my daughter's snuggle buddy in bed. Even after twelve years, I'm still taking pictures of him almost daily. I know he won't live forever, but he has forever changed me into a lover of tiny dogs.