It’s Raining, It’s Pouring

It’s rained massively the past few days.  Today is bright and sunny and the grass has a nice green tinge to it mostly yellowish brown.  We’ve been dry and hot for a long time.

The rain came with immense bolts of lightning producing thunder which shook our house and had my mom, the two dogs, and I in the same bed Wednesday night.  My dad was out-of-town, Bill had on his Thundershirt, and with the greatest crash of lightning all four of us nearly hit the ceiling and the power went out.  It was only out for a few minutes, but when it came back on, things were on that hadn’t been on before.  My bedroom fan and light turned on, my parents’ bedroom light turned on, and all the next day my mom and I found different lights and appliances around the house that were on but had not been the day before.  Beware of the Lightening Ghost!  We all survived, but my pea and bean plants look even worse than before.  And it poured again the next night.  I am grateful for the rain, but perhaps less dense and spread out over a period of time?

You could say I am late or you could say I am early in passing this message along, but as a daily reader of The Daily Dog Blog, I particularly enjoyed the idea of passing this post along–  I do believe there is a furry soul mate for everyone– actually soul mates.  My family has had 5 dogs so far and I cannot image life without any of them.  I could share the adoption story for each and every one of them, but that would be boring for you and only one of the stories is more interesting than the rest.

My parents started visiting shelters and rescues a few weeks after Becki passed away.  She was our 15-year-old German shepherd mix, the smartest dog we’d ever had, and the heartiest dog we’d ever had.  It is hard even for me to describe just what was so special about Becki.  I would have to say she loved us unconditionally, protected us, and was all but human.  To say losing Becki was a blow to our household is a gross understatement.  Nothing was right anymore and our sunshine was a little bit dimmer.

As much as Becki didn’t get along with other dogs (aside from the golden retriever we had at the time we adopted Becki) we all had a feeling that she’d want us to save another dog and to put our energy into loving another animal the way we loved her.  At the same time we were grieving our loss, our family friends got two miniature dachshund puppies.  Becki had been the smallest dog we’d ever had weighing 35 pounds at her lightest with us, endless layers of fur, and definitely beyond lap dog in size.  Dachshunds were small dogs.  But my parents were smitten as they visited their friends and played with the oddly proportioned puppies.

Then they went to Kay’s Animal Shelter.  I’m not fond of Kay’s because they do euthanize animals and it’s not the best looking place.  We don’t donate to kill-shelters.  I’m not sure what prompted my parents to stop there that day other than they had stopped everywhere else.

And there they were, two skinny little miniature dachshunds huddled up together in a cold, damp cage.  The shelter was busy and people were pointing at dogs, “Ooo, I want that one.”  “I want the little one!”  I wasn’t there, but this is what my parents told me when they called me asking me how much money was in my checking account.  The shelter only took cash and they didn’t have enough.  Empty my account, they said, and they’d pay me back.

While I’d like to say we adopted Bill and Bailey because they were brother and sister who had never been apart with people at the ready to take one or the other, something we couldn’t fathom, I know it had more to do with the fact that my parents had weenie fever.  And doggone it they were cute.  The desire to keep them together just sealed the deal.

Bill originally came as “Skill,” but what kind of name is that?  And if you ever met Bill, you’d wonder who had any business calling him Skill anyhow.  So we went to work brainstorming names that sounded similar but were real names.  Bill fit the…well…bill!  And while we’d probably never name a dog Bailey on our own (it’s so over used, and how many Jewish Baileys do you know?) there was no good reason to rename a named dog.

Bill humped Bailey the whole way home.  That’s a habit he has yet to lose, even after a good neutering.  And even though my parents have paid me back the $300 I lent them, I still pull the, “I paid for them, so they’re really my dogs” on them when I feel the need.
But the moral of the story?  Do no adopt a dachshund (doxie, weenie, hotdog, monster, beastie…) unless you have a large savings account, are an experienced dog owner, and have a buttload of patience!  And research the breed first.  They’re cute, but they’re stinkers.

We say time and again that we’re never adopting dachshunds again, that our next dog will be a big dog, but gawsh we love those turds!


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