Chelsea had been part of our family for only a couple of weeks in December when Christmas arrived.  She watched presents being unwrapped, one by one.  When my son unwrapped a large, stuffed, mallard duck, she stopped and watched closely. When he squeezed it to make it squeak, her eyes began dancing.  He held it out to her.  She accepted it gently and raced around the house with it, stopping every now and then to shake it.  Once or twice she got close enough to her brother, Teddy, to whack him a little with the duck’s floppy head or tail.  She grinned and did again. And again.

After that it was a regular thing for her to take a stuffed toy or rope toy and shake it near Teddy’s head.  Soon she found out that she could whack him with it not once but twice if she got close enough.  So she did.  She would grin her infectious grin and he would grin back.  When she thought they had both grinned enough, she would drop the toy and do something else.

One afternoon, Teddy was sleeping and she was roaming the house.  She found a rope toy and brought it over to where he lay on the rug.  She whacked him a few times on the ear, then dropped the toy and grinned.  He lifted his head to see what had happened and she strolled to a favorite spot on the steps, lay down and closed her eyes.  I swear, if she could have fake snored, she would have.

Reverend Ted Loder wrote, “Laughter is a holy thing. When you can laugh at yourself, you are free.” Chelsea agreed. I’ve seen dogs join in our laughter or act goofy to make others smile.  For Chelsea, laughter was an act of joy. She would begin with a prank and then dare us not to laugh joyfully along with her.

When Chelsea and her brother, Teddy, became part of Sue’s playgroup, she was in seventh heaven.  Her exuberant personality had a whole new place to shine and new dogs to entertain.  She romped, she chased and she spent time with every dog there.  But, she saved her special pranks for just a few.  Sue’s own dog Oscar, a German Shepherd, was smitten with Chelsea from day one.  She ran shoulder to shoulder with him and they would lay in the shade to cool off together.

More than once, Chelsea would stop playing and plunk down on the grass.  She would lay on her side, facing away from Oscar, unmoving.   Oscar would bark at her, telling her to get up and play.  She would lay there, eyes open, grinning.  After a little while, when he had almost given up, she would spring to her feet, ready to play again. He would be surprised and happily chase after her.

Her funniest joke was when she decided to redesign her harness.  While she was learning to walk without yanking me off my feet, I got one of those harnesses constructed so when she pulled, she was pulled to her side and back toward me.  I bought one in hot pink and was thrilled by how much more control I had during the walk. 

Chelsea was not as thrilled.  After one early morning walk, I let her go out onto the back deck without taking the harness entirely off.  I slipped inside to grab a cup of coffee and she disappeared from sight.  A few minutes later she returned, the harness was chewed in two pieces with the remaining piece riding low around her hips – not around her shoulders as it was designed.  “What did you do?” I squawked. “That was a $45 harness!” 

Then I stopped and stared.  She looked like she was wearing a hot pink thong.  She grinned her sassy grin and streaked past me and up the stairs.  I found her on my son’s bed, cuddled next to him, feeling protected, looking smug.  “Chelsea chewed up her harness,” I said.  “And now she’s wearing a thong.”  My son and I laughed and ended up taking pictures of Chelsea, which I posted online.  She never wore a harness again.