It all started back in 2002 when my daughter decided she wanted a puppy. We don’t need a dog. I did not want a dog. It’s not that I am not an animal lover. I love cows. In the form of hamburgers and steaks. I like chickens a lot–they taste like chicken. I adore lobsters. In melted butter. What’s not to love about animals? Okay, I’m not big on ham–I will not eat it Sam I am–but I do love bacon. Mmmmm bacon. I’m making me hungry here.
A few years before she asked for a puppy, I was trying to get on the show, Who Wants to be a Millionaire?–the Regis Philbin version where the general public could answer questions on the phone or take tests to get auditions. One of the questions the producers supposedly asked was, ‘would you kill a mouse (or hamster or some other small varmint) for a million dollars?” I’d kill a mouse for a Klondike Bar. For a million dollars, I’d eat the varmint. I already pay fast food places to eat whatever they call beef, so getting paid (a lot) to eat a mouse sounds like a great deal. But I digress.
I really don’t hate animals. I just don’t want them chewing my shoes, digging holes in my yard, shedding hair in my house, and pooping all over the place. A puppy is a lot of work (and I am by nature lazy), and I do not want a puppy.
So when my daughter looked at me with those big brown (puppy dog) eyes, I said no to the puppy. I put my foot down firmly. And do you know what I got? Puppy poop on my shoe.
Well this past winter we had to put Carly down as she had an inoperable stomach tumor. She was arthritic and blind despite only being about 9 years old. It was a sad day–even I was moved to tears.
But out of my misery, was one bright shining thought: our house was now dog free again. No fur on the floor. No poop in the yard that I had to dodge while mowing. We had already replaced the white carpets with hardwood and a new set of livingroom furniture since Carly all but shredded the original furniture as a puppy. Read my lips: no more dog.
That lasted about a two months.
And now we have TWO puppies. Not just one but two. That’s twice the poop if you do the math.
When did I lose control of my house? I strongly suspect it was when I said ‘I do’ but I really wonder if I ever had any control. Perhaps it was all just a figment of my imagination.
Kurt is a german shepherd mix. His litter was abandoned. There were 7 puppies, two males and five females, so they were each named for one of the Von Trapp children. We ended up with Kurt, and Fraulein Helga was correct: he is incorrigible.
Brittany chose Carly. Brandon, my eldest son and second child, got to pick Kurt–he is partial to German Shepherds. Poor Cameron, my youngest, who favors dachsunds, would have to wait his turn. That wait turned out to be about six weeks. Now we have a miniature dachsund named Sammy. He is basically another chew toy for Kurt who has already quadrupled in size since we got him.
They play well together–for about five minutes. They are as bad–if not worse–than my kids. And the little one attacks the big one like he is some kind of super dog. He is only a mouthful away from extinction but thinks he can win this battle. He does have the advantage of being low to the ground and at just the right height to bite Kurt’s . . .well, it’s not his tail and let’s leave it at that.
Unfortunately, Kurt being the older sibling, has to have a time out. But that doesn’t keep the other one from taunting him!
Having a dachsund reminds me of the old Sprint commercial. . . STAMPEDE! :
These dogs may be the death of me. I just hope I don’t have to buy new furniture again.
I originally published the amusing story about getting Carly–Puppy Love–on an old geocities site that no longer exists. If anyone is interested, leave me a comment and I can repost it here.