A Very Belated Introduction to Chuzoo

First, please don’t blame me for the name.  “Chuzoo” is something my parents came up with.  They like cutesy/weird names.  I was very nearly the victim of one of my mom’s cutesy name ideas.  Fortunately for me, my dad changed his mind about going along with it.

They were told that Chuzoo was half Chihuahua, and half Shih Tzu, so they decided that “Chuzoo” (pronounced like “chew zoo”, with no space, say it really fast) was a cute play on those breeds.

He wrapped himself up like this.

Fortunately, in spite of having a ridiculous name, Chuzoo is a very sweet and happy little guy.  He absolutely adored Emma, and he loves Duke, which works out well since he came to live with us in August.

My parents were getting ready to move into an apartment, and decided that Chuzoo would be happier living with us, since we have a fenced in back yard, and he would have Duke to play with.  He had stayed with us before, whenever my parents went out of town, and always seemed perfectly happy at our house.


Chuzoo quite happily moved in with us at the end of August.  He seems to love living here, and Duke is thrilled to have a dog buddy again.  The more the merrier, right?

Since When Are We Best Buds?

I know that we are very, very fortunate to live in a country that allows us the right to vote, and to have such a large voice in really important issues.  I understand that not everyone has this right, and that countless men and women have died fighting for it.  And I appreciate that.  I really do.  However, I also dread election season.

Hubby and I are registered as Independents.  I’ll spare you the stories of why; let it suffice to say that we see it as a good thing.   Mostly.  The bad thing is that we seem to get a lot of attention from both of the main parties, and all of the candidates.  I guess our votes are seen as really being “up for grabs”.  Every day the mailbox is filled with letters and postcards boldly declaring why Mr. Y or Miss X can be our only choice. 

This year, though, they’ve added phone calls into the mix.  Really annoying, overly chummy phone calls.  Most of them have gone to voicemail.  They’re largely all the same: “Hi Danielle!  It’s Bob!  I’m calling to get your pledge to vote for Candidate John Doe!  He’ll solve all of North Carolina’s problems, and give everyone a puppy!”  Okay, so the puppy part is an exaggeration.  The exclamation points aren’t. 

I can’t help wondering when “Bob”, who I’ve never met, and I became best buds.  I understand that Bob is enthusiastic, and I’m kind of interested in knowing what he’s putting in his coffee that makes him so perky.  But we’re not friends.  Calling me by first name doesn’t make us friends.  It doesn’t necessarily put us on the same side of an issue.  And it definitely doesn’t put Bob in the position of asking me to “pledge” or promise something.

I don’t stand on ceremony when it comes to names.  I still look around for my husband’s grandmother on the rare occasion when someone addresses me as Mrs. Zecher.  The kids next door call us Mr. Nick and Miss Danielle – their parents’ rule, not ours.  I’d be totally fine with them just calling me Danielle. We’ve talked about pets, their piano lessons, the garden – I know them. 

I don’t know Bob.  And we’re certainly not best buds.  I can’t help thinking that it is inappropriate for politicians (or their over-caffeinated minions) to presume to act like we’re best buds.  We’re not, and trying to behave as though we are doesn’t help their cause. 

So what about you?  Have you fallen victim to the phone calls?  Does it irritate you when a stranger calls and acts like you’re best buds?