Loving Dachshunds

A while back I took an online writing class. One assignment was to write something about our perfect writing place and then contrast that with reality.
Here’s how it went:

It’s around 6:00 a.m. The temperature is a wonderful 71 degrees. The sun is breaching the horizon, birds are milling about, thinking about just where they’re going spend the day. The teapot has been boiling water for 10 minutes and is whistling at the top of its lungs. I make a large cup of tea – take a writing pad and pen, and open the back door where I am met by our miniature dachshunds: Snoopy, Blackie, and Tigger.

(They’re busy brewing cappuccino with a new Capresso Ultima Semi-Automatic Coffee and Espresso/Cappuccino Machine. They look at me through glazed and sleepy eyes but shift their attention back to the cappuccino.).

I walk out the back door, down the sidewalk, and onto the gazebo. The smell of dew on cedar planks and freshly brewed tea drifts through the morning air. I sit and take in a deep breath, collect my thoughts, and begin to write.
The problems with this scenario are that: 1) I don’t have a gazebo; 2) I love sleep far too much to arise early without a good reason to get up artificially early; and 3) I melted the teapot last week when I left it on high for three hours. (OK, the house almost melted too, but it’s all good now. The firemen said that the putrid burnt smell should abate within a few years).
Finally, the dachshunds would likely be too busy with their cappuccino to notice me that early.

I love dachshunds and miss having them. (Why we no longer have them is another story). We now only have two Chihuahuas (a diminutive canine breed that resemble guinea pigs, but are much tastier – I mean faster). Someone recently criticized our decision to have Chihuahuas saying something about why have fake dogs when there were hundreds of real breeds out there.
I feel compelled to concur.

Since writing that little piece about my dachshunds, I’ve discovered another good reason why I miss them: Chihuahuas are just, how to say it, not as intellectually gifted as, say, a common rock or paper weight. Nor should they be trusted with sharp instrument or car keys.

But I digress.

Tonight, I noticed that Coco, our Ninja trained Chihuahua, was expressing a strong desire to leave his cage in the kitchen, where he spends a great deal of time with his friend, “Ella.”

Whining is more accurate.

He was whining to get out. Now, he’d already eaten. But, being the benevolent owner I can be (sometimes), I thought to myself, what dog wouldn’t want a beef hotdog cut up in Chihuahua sized pieces?

None; right?

So, I took a single beef hotdog from the refrigerator, sliced it into small chewable pieces, and placed the delicacy onto an expensive piece of paper towel.

I had to encourage the other Chihuahua, Ella, who is half the size of Coco, to partake in the feast. I don’t know why I had to do this; perhaps she is vegetarian.

I also have to remember that life’s got to be pretty tough on any four-inch high animal.

Coco eagerly attacked the beefy hotdog. Ella has to be dragged to the dish before Coco eats everything.

Three minutes later I hear a rather unpleasant statement from my daughter:
“Dad… Coco threw up!”

This is not the news I want to hear. I just fed him; what’s the problem? As I bend down, armed with a paper towel of lesser value that the dinner plate and disinfectant to clean up said vomit, I notice that the projectile evidence contains a white substance.

If you’re still reading, here’s the fun part. The IQ deprived artificially created faux-dog had consumed not only the tasty tender bits of beefy hotdog, but the bio-degradable dinner plate on which it sat.

I really miss our dachshunds.

By: Paul Swann

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