There are clingy dogs… and then there is my dog.

Rags — also known as Doodle Noodle, Doodle Bop, Rag-a-Bop, Bop-a-Lop, Rags Elaine Wheat, and approximately 47 other names depending on the day — is a 9-pound bichon mini poodle (bitchypoo) with the confidence of a 250-pound nightclub bouncer. What she lacks in size, she makes up for in bossiness, attitude, and what I can only describe as unchecked emotional dependency.

This dog follows me everywhere like I personally hold the key to civilization. Bedroom? She’s there. Bathroom? Absolutely there. Kitchen? Already waiting. I can’t even shift positions on the couch without her opening one eye like, “Excuse me… where exactly do you think you’re going?”

And before anybody says, “Awwww how cute!” let me clarify something: this is not a sweet, delicate little lap dog situation. This is surveillance.

People see her and immediately go, “Oh my gosh, she’s adorable!” Meanwhile, she has a 70-pound dog backed into a corner reconsidering every life choice that led them there. My big dogs are genuinely terrified of her. Full fear and emotional damage.

The only creature in this house not intimidated by Rags is Pork Chop the cat, who is equally committed to chaos and bad behavior. Those two operate like an angry retired couple who have stayed together purely out of spite.

The funniest part is that Rags has been this way since day one. I got her when she was tiny enough to fit in a pocket, and somehow she immediately established herself as management. There was never a puppy phase where she was unsure of herself. No. She arrived fully convinced she owned the home, the yard, the humans, and likely several neighboring properties.

Over the years she’s done everything with me — road trips, hikes, camping, long adventures, even those absolutely unhinged 28-mile, 3-day mountain hikes where normal people question their choices halfway through. Not Rags. She marched those trails like a tiny furry drill sergeant fueled entirely by rage and determination.

Now she’s 12. She has severe cataracts, bumps into things occasionally, and still somehow manages to terrify large dogs with just her presence alone. Her eyesight may be questionable, but her attitude remains crystal clear.

She still follows me from room to room. Still needs to know what I’m doing at all times. Still acts personally abandoned if I close a door between us for longer than 14 seconds.

And truthfully, as much as I joke about having a clingy animal, there’s something comforting about being loved with that level of commitment. Even if the love comes packaged in the form of an angry little dust mop who thinks she runs the household.

Which… to be fair… she absolutely does.