The moment Poncho the chihuahua saw the apartment under the stairs, he knew this would be his bachelor pad. “You gotta see this place,” he bragged to his friends. “It’s prime real estate. Sure, it’s a studio, but you know what they say when it comes to house hunting: location, location, location!” The housing market had been totally insane these past few years, so he knew he lucked out when he finally found a place he could afford on his modest dog salary of $0.
He became fast friends with his roommate and landlord, Betty McCall of Pitts, Georgia. The sweet lady even went so far as to decorate his digs for him, with little touches like a sombrero hanging from decorative antlers on the wall, and an oil painting that reminded him of his brothers back home.
She was respectful of his space, too. Poncho had a strong, tall door, so he could enjoy his privacy when felt the urge to noodle on the piano or think about the heavier stuff. McCall told him not to croon after midnight, but whatever. His room, his rules.
Still, he didn’t want to be too disrespectful. After all, she did get a carpenter to install an outlet in his room so he could have an electric blanket in there for the lonely winters. She was good to him. And the place — well, even he could admit, when his friends weren’t in earshot, that it wasn’t much. But at least it was his.