The Dachshunds Bill of Rights.

I have dachshunds. If you read my blog regularly, you'll know this. If you stumbled upon it, well...welcome.

The reason I'm stating again that I have dachshunds is that having been around a lot of dogs in my life, these long little dogs are a breed unto themselves. If you're thinking of getting a dachshund, there are certain things you should know. Many of these things you can find online or in books that talk about the personality and temperament of the breed. However, there are some things you won't learn unless you either get your own dachshund or you talk to someone who has one.

The thing with dachshunds is that they're stubborn. This you will read everywhere. What you won't read is the Dachshund Bill of Rights that I'm about to give you. I should say this is the "Dachshunds 'Expected' Bill of Rights" in that you don't HAVE to agree with it. Just know that the dachshund in question will do what he/she wants to do anyway so you might as well know what you're in for.

THE DACHSHUND BILL OF RIGHTS

1. Dachshunds do not like to be cold. Most of all, dachshunds do not like a cold nose. If his/her nose is cold, he/she will find the most convenient source of heat from which to warm the nose in question. This often means you. They especially like it if you're in a bathrobe or under a blanket. It is their right to usurp said blanket or bathrobe.

2. Dachshunds will sleep on the bed with you. It is their right. It is also their right to burrow under the covers. Do not try and stop them. They get rather crabby if you prevent them from burrowing. They will then use you as a source of heat. They also like to lie horizontally across the bed. If you do not have enough room, your dachshund will not care.

3. Dachshunds are the master of the pitiful whine. They also have enormous sad eyes. If you give in once, you will always give in. They want you to give in. This is why they end up sitting up on the couch and sleeping in your bed. They also manage to make you feel guilty for punishing them, even if they deserved it.

4. If you let your dachshund up on the couch, it is his or her right to take up as much room as they want. If you get up for a moment from the couch, you will return to find your dachshund has stolen your spot but still somehow managed to occupy his/her old one. They are long-bodied dogs and they know how to use that to their advantage.

5. Dachshunds are always hungry. You can feed them and feed them and they will still want more. Be careful not to overfeed them. They will try anything once but they may not like it. This does not mean you shouldn't offer them the same food in future. They might have changed their mind. Also, though you know you shouldn't give them 'people food', they want it. Badly. They especially love sausages, bacon, chicken and anything from the meat family. However, they have also been known to enjoy fruits. And vegetables. Also, dachshunds might look small but when they stand up on their back legs, they have quite a height. This means they will try to steal from your table. Beware.

6. Dachshunds dig. You can try to stop them. You can try to make them a digging spot. You can try to encourage them to dig somewhere else so it isn't so visible. This will not work. Dachshunds will dig where they want to dig. You can try to stop them but the minute you turn your back, they will dig a hole. Soon, you will have lots of little holes in your lawn. Fight back if you like but after a while, you'll realize that it's better in your lawn than under your dianthus, roses, marigolds or tomatoes. Dachshunds do not care what is above their digging spot. They like to dig.

7. Dachshunds like to collect things. They will find rocks and sticks from places you never imagined. They will collect piles of them around the holes they have dug. When you go to mow your lawn, you will find their collection. Beware. This habit is not good for lawn mowers.

8. Dachshunds are scent-hounds. They can smell extremely well. When they catch the scent of a squirrel or rabbit, nothing else in the world matters. They will hunt and track that scent until they are dragged away from it. If you are walking your dachshund and they scent a bunny or squirrel, you will know it. The leash will go tight and you will have to hold on. If they actually see a bunny or squirrel, you will need to hold on very tightly. Dachshunds also do not understands that birds can fly and squirrels can climb trees. Thus, they, too, will attempt to fly or climb trees. Both will end in a very dismayed dog who would be content to stand there until the squirrel or bird came back.

9. Dachshunds like to go for walks to smell things. They don't really know the meaning of the word exercise. That is just something that is a by-product of smelling. If you take them for a walk, they will let you know when they're tired by simply sitting down. You might have to accidentally drag them before you realize they're done. Dragging a dog in public is not good. If your dachshund has really had enough, you may have to carry him or her for the duration of the walk. The dachshund will then sit comfortable in your arms as you attempt to arrange his/her long body for comfort. However, if they smell something, they will then wriggle and you MUST put them down.

10. Dachshunds don't understand boundaries of any kind. This may be a physical boundary such as a fence or human-enforced boundary such as, 'don't steal food from the table.' They see both types of boundaries as a challenge. If a dachshund smells 'something' on the other side of the fence, they will somehow manage to fit through the tiniest hole or gap in order to try to get that 'something'. Make sure your fence is dachshund proof. Once they find a hole, they will use it until you stop them. For human-enforced boundaries...good luck with that. Dachshunds tend to be willing to endure the punishment in order to reap the benefits of the crime. When it comes time for punishment, see #3.

In exchange for following this bill of rights, you will receive love, kisses, cuddles and devotion from your dachshund. Unless they don't feel like giving it to you. Or they smell a squirrel.

Just kidding. They're the best dogs in the world, in my opinion. Each one has a very specific personality but it's worth every minute. I think every breed has its quirks and every human is drawn to a certain breed. It's just my luck I get drawn to a stubborn quirky one.

Or maybe it's not luck at all.

Neighbourhood Dangers!

It has come to my attention that walking in my neighbourhood with puppies is actually relatively dangerous.

The most usual common danger is usually minor. It's just more inconvenient than anything else. It's usually just Larry-the-Potential-Serial-Killer laying in wait for the girls and I as we round out our walk by trying to dash past his house with some trepidation. He lives on a corner, you see. I've actually tried to avoid his corner by taking a different route home but my little puppies can be rather stubborn. They don't like to go in a different direction to what we're used to. Either that or the smell of squirrel isn't strong enough in the new way for them to feel like going that direction.

So, usually, I resort to walking by Larry-the-Potential-Serial-Killer's house at a bit more of a rapid pace than usual in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, we won't be spotted.

Nine times out of ten, we're spotted. It looks like Larry isn't home. His garage door is closed. His car is not in the drive. His back door is closed. I heave a sigh of relief and start to tell the girls that 'yay! we made it!' in a quiet whisper and..then…

Larry-the-Potential-Serial-Killer appears. Out of nowhere.

Well, actually it's from his back yard but that doesn't sound so dramatic. Either way, unless we want to look horribly rude which, as an Englishwoman, is not something I like to do, I usually have to at least say a polite hello.

Unfortunately, it's never just a polite hello. I try to keep walking and he's there in his usual up-too-close-and-personal manner, wanting to either talk about the Dog Whisperer's beasts or ask me about a plant or something. Silly me made the mistake of joining in a discussion with him about his yard which revealed I had Gardening Knowledge. I usually get my Gardening Knowledge from my mother. But I do have some.

Larry, it seems, does not have Gardening Knowledge. Or, if he does, he pretends he doesn't just so he has an excuse to talk. Last time, it was his shrub rose-bush. He didn't know it was rose. Or he pretended not to, anyway. Personally, the presence of roses and thorns should have tipped him off but what do I know? Maybe in Larry's world, roses aren't the same as the roses I know. I didn’t ask. It would have taken too long to get an answer. Larry is rather detailed, you see.

So, normally, we try to skip talking to Larry since it usually results in the puppies getting bored and restless. Actually, it results in all of us getting bored and restless but, not being a cute puppy, I can't exactly lie down on the ground and pretend to sleep like they do.

Yet, Larry isn't the only danger in the neighbourhood. Now it seems we have to look out for mad male dachshunds.

Last night, you see, we decided to leave The Odious One in peace for a while and go for a walk. Well, I should say, I decided to give him some peace. Rory and Sookie are attempting to be good but they still can't resist giving Odie an enthusiastic greeting every time he moves. Giving that Odie won't sit still and enjoys either following me everywhere or trying to find an escape route, he's making himself a moving target.

So, I decided he'd be fine if I left him home alone and took the girls for a walk.

Well, he was fine. The girls, however…well they had a scare.

It began after I decided to extend our normal walk to the longer version which is three blocks instead of one. The girls like walking now, ever in search of bunnies and squirrels, so they don’t mind the extra distance.

We met a new neighbour last night. He was sitting on his front lawn, just relaxing. He was very nice and very excited to see my pups. It turns out, he, too, has black-and-tan, sibling dachshunds, just like me. He wanted his dog to meet my girls so he brought out Odin, the male sibling. Odin has quite a story. He escaped not too long ago and went missing. The owner put up fliers all over the area and advertised in the newspaper. Odin was missing for three weeks and then, one day, his owners got a call that his dog had been picked up by a repairman in a van and rescued. Apparently, Odin had two rows of puncture wounds in his side and a deep gash on his throat. The repairman found out that Odin was missing and he was able to reunite owner and dog.

Odin's owner took him to the vet for the puncture wounds and the vet told him that he'd actually been picked up by a bird of prey. The punctures were talon marks and the gash was from the beak. Obviously, Odin had been too long and bulky to go far but the attempt had been made.

I was fascinated. Who doesn't like a good "Dog gets Lost and Makes it Back Home" story? It's even better when a ferocious and ambitious villain such as a hawk is involved.

The trouble is that Odin didn't appear to be a very nice dog. Rather than greet my girls nicely, he immediately tried to bite them. His owner scooped him up but Odin did NOT want to be held. He wanted to snarl. His owner finally put him in the house. I was glad. I was happy that Odin had found his way home but rather glad Odin was not my dog.

We went on our way. All of a sudden, after we were halfway down the street, I hear the shout of "Odin, No!"

Odin was running towards us, having escaped again. At first, he seemed to be friendly, as if curious about my pups. Then he started to growl and before I knew it, he was lunging for Rory. His owner, not far behind, was yelling. I stupidly reacted from instinct and grabbed his collar. I know that's a no-no for breaking up a dog fight but, fortunately, I didn't get bitten. I did, however, managed to hold off Odin from Rory and Sookie who were now whimpering and terrified.

His owner caught up and was clearly mortified and upset. He was extremely apologetic. He finally took Odin and left us in peace. I managed to pick up each puppy and cuddle them which seemed to settle them down. I think, in the end, I was more alarmed than they were.

We managed to finish our walk and even avoid Larry which was definitely welcome after such a traumatic interlude. Rory and Sookie seemed recovered by the time we got home. I, however, find that I'm more wary of male dachshunds than ever. It doesn't help that Possibly-Joe the plumber's girlfriend also has an older male dachshund and he sometimes brings him to our shared fence to meet the girls. This dog inevitably snarls at my pups and snaps at them. Combined with the rather scary violence of Sausage, I think I'll definitely stick with female dogs. My puppies are very sweet and have great temperaments which is why I don't understand why the two other dachshunds they've met have been so rude to them.

All in all, I think for now, we'll be a little more careful around the neighbourhood, just in case Odin the Mad Male Dachshund gets out again. Perhaps I'll take my little squirt bottle with me next time, just in case.

Hmm….I wonder if that would work on Larry.

Happy Wednesday!

For Peppy....A Slightly Mental but Lovable Chihuahua

Alas, today, we did not lose our network. Though it threatened to be a little sluggish for a while, it plodded along and then recovered itself. I was quite disappointed.

Still, I managed to get some work done. Lately, my job is scaring me. There are days when I actually feel like I could say I like my job. I won't yet though. As I've stated a few times before, I have commitment issues. In this case, I'm afraid that as soon as I say that, my job is going to go right back to being that place where I go to earn my paycheck before I get to go home and enjoy life.

Nevertheless, things aren't so bad. In general, things aren't quite so bad. A week ago, things were much worse.

I think I mentioned that I lost Sausage a week ago. When I say "lost", I mean that he had to be put to sleep.

If you've read my blog for any length of time, you'll know that Sausage was my very lazy, very selfish, very loved dachshund dog who lived at my parents but, possibly, was coming to live with me. He didn't do much but sleep and eat and, when the occasion merited it (usually when I had food or a rub on the nose), he'd show me affection.

Sausage, however, was also a little mean. He'd always been a little mean, ever since he was a puppy. I think he came from a bad home when we got him because he was always jumpy and nervous. As he got older we learned that he had very big teeth that he liked to show when he was irritated. Given that my parents had four other dogs who were smaller than him, Sausage learned to bear his teeth at the ones who irritated most. It was a scary sight which, at first, seemed harmless.

Over the years, he'd always picked on one of my parent's dogs in particular: Peppy, the slightly overweight, slightly nutty chihuahua, who looked like a mini border collie. Peppy was my 'college graduation dog'. My parents had come down to help me move home after graduation and we'd stopped at a pet store. Peppy had been so irresistible, he'd come home with us. He was very loyal to certain people, me being one of them- most of the time. He also loved my older brother and would follow him everywhere when he came home. As he got older, he started to lose his vision. By the time he turned almost13 this year, he was virtually blind. Sausage had begun to pick on Peppy more and more, attacking him when he got a chance. We worried about it but we never realized how bad it would get.

Last week, my mother came home to find that Sausage had almost killed Peppy. My dad took him to the vet but nothing could be done. We'd lost Peppy. When I heard the news, it was a huge shock. What was just as much of a shock was what had to be done about Sausage. He was getting meaner with age and in addition to the other three dogs my parents' have, my nephews and nieces are often around. Given the brutal state of Peppy, it was too much of a risk to keep Sausage around.

The next day, Sausage was put to sleep. My heart broke a little, not just for Sausage but also for little Peppy who had been the victim of a bully.

It's been a week and it's easier to talk about even if it's not easier to comprehend. It was so sudden, two dogs, two days. I know, for my parents, it was a different kind of shock. They had to deal with the physical nature of what happened. My dad had to take the dogs to the vet, my mother has been dealing with an emptier house.

I suppose, in a way, it's been easier for me than it has been for them. I got to mourn away from the scene of the tragedy. Though, I will say, it doesn't make it any easier to lose a dog. When they've been part of the family for as long as they have, it's never easy.

I think the hardest part in this is trying to comprehend what it was that Sausage did. Peppy is the real victim in the tragedy. Mauled by Sausage, he didn't stand a chance. He was a sweet dog, if a little...different. He had strange dances he did, a high pitched almost soprano squeak that he'd lift in answer to the other dogs bark when, on occasion, they'd decide to have a 'sing', raising their barks in unison to whatever invisible trigger motivated them. He would sit by my feet when I was on the computer, my 'writing dog' as I called him. He was a loyal dog who didn't deserve the fate that Sausage dealt him.

Yet...I can't help but be sad about Sausage. As my dad reminded me, Peppy is the one I feel sorry for and should mourn and I do. But Sausage was....my Sausage. In all his meanness, I loved that stupid dog. I loved the snow dance I did with him, the fact that he would manage to find a patch of sunshine even if they were few and far between. He'd recharge himself in the sun and become, as I dubbed him, Solar Sausage.

It's hard to forget those things, no matter how much I should despise him for what he did. I don't think we can help who or what we love and though Sausage turned out to be a bad apple, I still loved him. I will miss him for a long time, probably always, just as I miss Peppy.

Through all of it, I know my parents had to do what they did. I will never blame them for that. I wasn't there, I didn't see how badly Sausage injured Peppy. I didn't have to be there as Sausage left the house for the last time. I've imagined it...a lot. Each time I do, I get sad and am eternally grateful I wasn't there because, if I had been, I would have begged my dad not to take him, even though it would have been the wrong thing. I thought about it the whole night before Sausage died, thought about calling them, begging them to stop.

But I didn't because it wouldn't have been right. It's only been a week and it's still fresh in my mind. I feel bad writing this because my mum will read it and I don't want to depress her or upset her. But, as a writer, this is how I express myself and tonight, I felt like it was time to talk about it, to eulogize both dogs in blog form.

I'm not quite ready to move on yet but I've decided that when Spring comes and stays for good, I'm going to go to the Dachshund Rescue of Ohio and look for a dachshund to rescue. In my anger and shock about Sausage, I tried to find another type of dog that I might click with; I even went to the pet store with my parents to look this past weekend. In the end, it was the tiny little dachshund puppy that I kept watching and I realized that it was no good. I'm a wiener-dog Monkeypants, no matter how hard I try. I'm going to look for a little girl dog who's old enough to need to be rescued and to appreciate a good home. While the puppies are adorable, I want to find a companion who'll appreciate being rescued and enjoy the home I can provide.

In the meantime, I'll continue to miss and grieve for Peppy and, despite the circumstances, Sausage. Every time it snows, I'm going to picture him doing the snow dance and giving me one of my favourite things in the world, even though he hated snow and would cower whenever I gave the victorious shout of "Snow, Sausage, Snow!"

And as for Peppy, I'll never be able to sit at my computer without imagining him sitting by my feet, patiently waiting and enjoying the peace.

I'll miss them both.

Happy Wednesday

Saga of the Sausage, Part 2: Carpet-Woes

It is day two of Sausage-sitting and I'm already exhausted. When I picked him up from my parent's, he came with his crate. I felt guilty yesterday about confining him and was also terrified that it would cause him to bark. So, I let him run loose in my bedroom.

Yesterday morning, this method was fine. Sausage appeared to have slept happily on my bed. I had to rouse him to take his lunchtime walk.

The afternoon was another story, however. Due to feelings of massive guilt at the thought of crating him for the afternoon, I continued to let him run loose, confining him to my room. I learned quickly that Sausage does not like to be confined. I came home to discover a huge piece of my bedroom carpet had been ripped up, chewed and clawed in his efforts to free himself from captivity. He's persistant, I'll give him that.

The thing is, I wanted to yell at him, to tell him off but it really wasn't his fault. He has separation anxiety and I know it. He was left alone in a strange room and he was trapped. As a dachshund, his ancestors used to burrow, to dig down into the ground to hunt prey such as rabbits. Sausage does not disappoint his ancestors, digging with the best of them. He tried to dig out of my room. He didn't succeed but my poor carpet suffered anyway. Now I'm going to have to pay for that when I move out. It's an expensive fix, that I know. Lesson learned.

So, today, I left him crated in my room with the TV on. He's watching NBC today. He watched FOX yesterday. I blame that for the digging. I'm hoping NBC is a little more soothing. He was trying to dig his way out as I left. Now I worry that he'll realize he's alone and he'll start those howls of anguish. I have no choice though- if I let him roam, he'll still bark but it'll be more likely the neighbours will hear him.

Truth be told, I do love having him around in the evenings. It's nice to curl up on the couch in the evenings with a dog by my side. When I made dinner, I cooked him his own hot dog (fat-free, of course) on my George Foreman grill so we could eat together. He seems happy in the evenings; it's the days that are hard. I only hope that at the moment, he's settled down to sleep. I gave him his sweaters, a chew-bone and some snacks. It's only four-hours until I can run home at lunch and walk him and then only another four hours before I stay home for the evening with him.

I've realized that having a dog in an apartment is no easy feat. I'm looking into doggie day-care for the next three days. I figure if I have to pay $20 a day for someone else to deal with his howling, at least I won't get evicted and some of the guilt will go away.

Aside from Sausage-sitting, my life is pretty quiet. I did approach my boss and tell him I was slightly bored at work and would love more responsibility. I figure that was easier than going the Monster.com route. Also, I like my company. I just find my job slightly mind-numbing. I know I am lucky to have a job in this economy, even when someone's not saying it, I hear a voice in my head saying that. I just also have a need for some personal satisfaction in a job and when I don't get it, I tend to get restless. I'm hoping that subsides for now.

I'm also thinking that I should start packing to move. I close on my new house in 13 days. Yes, I'm nervous. Actually...I'm terrified. Buying a house is a huge responsibility. I think it'll be a great house and my mortgage will be lower than my current rent and I get a place twice the size of my own. Also, if Sausage comes to stay/live with me, it'll be easier because he'll have more room to howl and less chance of complaints. That doesn't mean I'm not scared. I have a little trouble with commitment and, as commitments go, this is about as big as it gets short of having a baby. Given how hard trying to juggle a Sausage and my life, I have new admiration for mothers.

This is going to be a very long week.

Happy Tuesday.

A Contraband Sausage...

It's a Monday morning and to add to the normal gloom of having to get up on a Monday morning, I have added Sausage-stress to make it worse.

You see, my parents are currently on holiday in the UK visiting with family. They have five small dogs. I have three siblings. We decided to divide up the dogs for the duration of the two weeks between the siblings: My older brother took a chihauhua as did my sister. My younger brother got the two miniture Yorkies which come as a pair anyway. I got Sausage.

I love Sausage. I've wanted to have him come and live with me for a long time. Unfortunately, I'm beginning to realize that while I'm living in an apartment, this is not a good idea.

Sausage is very needy. This is my fault. I have spoiled him. He sees me, he thinks it's all attention, all the time. He likes treats. I give him treats. Then, when I leave him he howls. Literally. He barks too, a deep, heavy woofing sound that vibrates from within. In my parent's house, this is manageable behaviour. In an apartment, this is terrible.

The problem is, I'm not really supposed to have Sausage at least not without letting my apartment managers know and then I'm supposed to pay a deposit for him and an extra fee on my rent. Thus, since I haven't told them he's staying for a week, he's technically a contraband dog.

Sausage isn't used to apartment life. He isn't used to having people around he doesn't recognize. He feels the need to woof at them. He doesn't like strange noises which is why I'm careful to close my windows at night lest my CEO and her boyfriend have one of their interesting nights. He doesn't like me to leave him and he cries. And he barks. And he cries more.

This means my having to leave for work this morning may be a terrible mistake. I left him shut in my room with access to his food in the bathroom. The bathroom also has a tile floor which means should Sausage have an unfortunate accident, it's easy cleaning. I left him with the TV to mask the noise. I gave him treats. I gave him a pillow to lie on. Yet, my imagination is picturing Sausage howling his little head off, disturbing the neighbours and having the dog-police show up on my doorstep.

I'm hoping at the worst, the only people who can hear him are my CEO and her boyfriend in which case I can apologise profusely. Also, I think they owe me a wee bit o' noise given the thiness of my ceiling.

I plan on going home at lunch to walk him. Walking Sausage is interesting because he doesn't like to get his feet weet. Thus at night and in the morning, the grass is sodden with dew and he has to get his feet wet. I'm a little worried because he hasn't really figured out that it's ok to go outside on the leash. Yet the trouble with going home is that I have to leave any my worries about howling and noise will start up again.

I had planned on keeping him two weeks. Due to a commitment on Saturday, I can't take him to my parents until the evening. I'm going to try to take Monday off so that I can leave him at my parent's next week, have a long weekend and only abandon Sausage for a day before my parent's return. I'm hoping he complies with this plan. I can only imagine him whimpering with loneliness for that...is what he does.

I hate feeling guilty about a dog and yet if ever there was a dog to make me feel guilty, it's The Sausage. I only hope when I return home at lunch, my bedroom is in one piece and the door hasn't been busted down with someone's attempts to shut him up. I'll keep you posted.

Happy Monday.

Tales of a Sausage

So, I wasn't really planning on blogging today but I've been specifically told that 'it would be nice' so I did. It's nice to have loyal readers.

As always, I don't have any idea of what I'm going to say. I'm actually at my parents today. Having a four-day weekend, it seemed like a good idea. Currently, I have a loyal dog at my feet. Well, actually, he's not really that loyal unless I happen to have treats on hand. He's currently staring up at me, whining. In the interest of anonymity, I shall call him "Sausage".

Oh, who am I kidding, his name really is Sausage. He's a dachshund. We call dachshund 'sausage dogs' in the UK so the name stuck. He's the most exasperating dog in the universe, fickle in his love, lazy in his nature and not the brightest bulb in the box.

Of course, I love him dearly. He loves me too. He loves me most when I have what we call "meaties" which translate as leftovers from the fridge. Then, Sausage will stare at me with those liquid brown eyes, whimper with just enough sadness that I melt and I give in. I hate it. I'm being manipulated by a creature who sleeps eighteen hours a day and who would give me up for a slice of bacon.

And yet, I still adore him. He really is the laziest dog in history. He likes to wrap up in one of my dad's old sweaters and hibernate in the winter. Occasionally, he'll get stuck in the sweater. Sometimes, he manages to actually wiggle into one of the arms of the sweater and get stuck. Picture Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Pot...that's Sausage when he's caught in a sweater arm. During these situations, Sausage panics. He doesn't calmly wait to be rescued. He flails and cries and doesn't understand what has happened. We've had to cut him out before because he's a bit too big to be pulled gently out of the sweater's arm. After he has been rescued, he stares at you with baleful eyes that are almost accusing, like it was OUR fault he got stuck.

Have I mentioned that he's not the brightest dog in the universe? He's terribly sweet though. When he wants to be, that is. We used to have this tradition I called "The Snow Dance." Even before I moved to California, I loved snow and liked nothing better than a thick covering on the ground that would allow for snowman-building and the subsequent hot-chocolate drinking. So every winter, I would have Sausage sit up on his hindquarters, grab his front paws and shout "Snow, Sausage! Snow!".

And every winter, within a week of The Snow Dance, it would snow. My mother hated it. She actually forbid me to do the dance, convinced that it actually worked. I'd still sneak it in, anyhow. Especially when I was home for the holidays from California and missing the snow a lot.

Sausage actually did get smart enough to realize he should hide when I said the "S" word. You see, he hates snow. He despises it almost as much as my mother. He burrows under his sweater for days when it snows emerging long enough to eat. He'll also go outside to do his business. It takes him two minutes and then he's back, diving under the sweater for warmth.

I used to make up stories about Sausage. Well, ok, so I still do. I tell him he used to be King of the Village in his former life. Being a dachshund, naturally, I assume he used to live in Germany because it seems to fit. Sometimes I call him "Der Wurste Hund". I know that's probably bad German but it roughly translates to..."The Sausage Dog". Hey, I'm original, what can I say?

In my stories, as King of the Village, Sausage used to be the former fearsome ruler of Ravensburg in Germany, an idyllic little village where the residents celebrate Christmas year-round, where there is always snow that doesn't melt, even when it's warm, where everyone loves one another. Ravensburg is perfect, you see.* There are hot chocolate vendors downtown, candied houses like in Hansel and Gretel and, in the very middle of the village, there is a giant Christmas Tree where the villagers gather nightly, in a circle, hands clasped, to dance around the tree to celebrate the perfectness of their village.

Sausage, naturally, watches the dancing from his Sausage Throne, being fed meaties by the villagers who adore him. When he's hungry, he goes hunting, burrowing down holes and retrieving whatever pests bother him. He's particularly fond of chihuahuas. This is mostly because Sausage wishes in his real life that he was an only-dog. Instead, he is one of five little dogs- two chihuahuas and two Yorkshire Terriers.

Sausage hates the chihuahuas. Normally, he's a placid dog but he has awfully big teeth and when the chihuahuas yap and bother him, Sausage the Mighty King comes out and gets angry. He's a bit scary when he's angry, actually. He just doesn't like being provoked.

So, I tell Sausage stories of Ravensburg and he stares up at me with those big eyes, almost as if he understands me. I think he also enjoys the fact that I'm rubbing his nose or petting his tummy but he looks like he understands.

Around my nephews and nieces, Sausage is actually rather gentle. He's been forced to play Red Riding Hood by my oldest niece and was very good natured about it at the time although now, whenever she comes over, he dives under the table to avoid contact. He might not always be the brightest but he's not completely stupid.

He's with me now as I type this, his whining is increasing. He's convinced that nothing I do is nearly important as what I should be doing which is, naturally, paying attention to him. It's hard to resist. He has sad eyes and he knows how to use them. I know I'm being manipulated and yet...I can't resist.

The whining is getting louder which means I'm going to have to wrap this up for some one-on-one time with The Sausage. As the first blog of 2009, I didn't intend to spend the time talking about my dog but, well, he's adorable.

Just as long as you're not a chihuahua.

*Note: The perfect qualities of Ravensburg are not entirely fictional but are a result of being forced to spend a large amount of time with slightly insufferable German relatives one Sunday afternoon who could talk of nothing but how perfect their town of Ravensburg was. So, yes, this is slightly sarcastic. But then again, would you expect anything else?