Hurricane Sissi

From the moment I meet Sissi, it’s obvious: this six-month-old Vizsla has one mission in life—to conquer every sofa and every heart in sight. With ears flapping like tiny wings and a bounce that defies physics, she’s a furry tornado of chaos and charm rolled into one.

For five days straight, Sissi’s “operation” unfolds at full throttle. She cannonballs toward me, baseball clenched in her jaws like a heat-seeking missile, barreling forward at breakneck speed. I try filming her in slow motion, but all I capture are blurs of flapping ears, bruised shins, and one triumphant grin.

Her energy? Endless. Every room becomes a launchpad; every surface, a trampoline. She ricochets around like a caffeinated kangaroo on a sugar rush, bursting into a Zoom call mid-bounce to introduce herself to a new client. Laptop cords and toes are fair game—Sissi is a force to be reckoned with, and there’s no escaping her fizzy, four-legged whirlwind. And just when I think she’s run out of steam, she vaults onto my lap, wriggles into a half-lapdance, and crashes into the most adorably intense nap you’ve ever seen. Watching her tiny chest rise and fall, I decide to surrender supper for a few stolen moments of stillness.

Friends, frenemies and flying fur

Also on playdates, Sissi’s a furry hurricane—full speed, bouncing off walls and occasionally toppling toes and laptops. She meets Sandy and Marley, two seasoned Labradors with very different vibes. Sandy shoots her a sharp “Know your place, kid” growl. Sissi? Totally unfazed. She pivots to Marley, drops an irresistible play bow, and has both Labradors playing (or panting) within minutes. Marley, the older gent with creaky joints, joins in with earnest, clumsy enthusiasm.

Not everyone’s won over, though. Floyd, a seven-year-old Cockapoo, perches by the window like a royal guard, delivering Oscar-worthy sighs and side-eyes that say, “Mate, give me space.” Sissi? Oblivious. She bounces at him like a tennis ball stuck in an eternal game of fetch—relentless and unstoppable.

But out on Millennium Field, Sissi flips the script. The hurricane hushes to a graceful breeze. She’s the ultimate lady—calm, friendly, and quick to make friends. I unclip her lead, hold my breath, and watch her glide across the grass with surprising politeness, mingling easily with other dogs and returning promptly on command. For a brief, magical moment, she looks almost elegant—until that cheeky grin and helicopter tail remind me she’s still full-on Vizsla mischief.

Evenings bring a sliver of calm—five minutes, max—thanks to a Kong filled with frozen cheese spread. Then she tucks herself into her crate, her fortress of fluff, and sighs like a Victorian heroine after a day of dramatic fainting.

Sissi is the youngest (and wildest) member of my pet-sit tribe. She leaves me thoroughly battered, utterly sleep-deprived… and absolutely in love. Two months later, I return for round two—braced for Hurricane Sissi. She greets me like no time has passed: full throttle, zero hesitation, tail set to warp speed.

These days, she’s grown into a sleek, regal-looking lady—until she spots a squirrel. I still catch her on runs: Sissi charging ahead on the lead, her owner red-faced and gripping the handle like she’s water-skiing behind a Vizsla-shaped rocket.

Beneath all that elegance, she’s still the glorious tomboy—forever chasing the next horizon, or just the next couch.

What I Learned from Sissi

Sissi tackles life as if conquering every couch and heart is her sole purpose—full speed, no brakes (sorry again, Floyd). Her fearless charm reminds me that sometimes the best way to win is simply to show up, bounce in, and claim your space.

Where in your life are you holding back, being too modest, or shrinking from your own spotlight? What dream or mission is waiting for you to claim it boldly?

Take a small step today to chase your goals—with tail-wagging confidence and fearless enthusiasm, just like Sissi charging into every room as if it’s all hers.