A Month Full of Dogs
(to one degree or another)
As most of you probably already know, I belong to a breed-specific rescue group, New Mexico Dachshund Rescue. Mind you, this isn’t so much because I adore dachshunds as a breed (although I do. I think it’s because they’re so funny looking) as that they seem to be attracted to me. Kind of like a steel fragments are attracted to a magnet, cats to dead birds, and stuff like that.
However, the fact that I attract dachshunds is the reason last month was so full of the little creatures. It all started with my three foster children, Cindy, Santana and Mr. Sausage. Some kind person drove them all up to Albuquerque for a special NMDR Adoptathon held at the PetCo on San Mateo. I was intensely grateful not to have to foster those dogs any longer, not because I didn’t care for them, but because, with the exception of Santana who’s about as big as a peanut, they were big, heavy dogs (for dachshunds) and used to drag me all over the place. I’m not as young as I used to be (more about that later), and I’m kind of semi-crippled because of a deteriorating spine, so I’ve decided only to foster small or elderly dachshunds from now on. But it all worked out. Cindy, Santana and Mr. Sausage (whose name is now Jimmy Dean) were all adopted either at the Adoptathon or shortly thereafter, and I went to Albuquerque to join in the fun. And it was fun. Lots of nice people and a whole bunch of oddly shaped doggies.
That meant my own personal family of dogs had dwindled to a mere five. Until Jacob, the vet tech at the place I take my dogs, found a simply gorgeous dachshund puppy at the side of the highway. It looked as if she had been dumped, she was full of fleas, skinny as a toothpick, and had claws Freddy Kruger would envy. Jacob decided to keep the dog, whom he named Jazzy. The name fits her. Jacob had never had a dachshund before, and I guess he wasn’t prepared for the dachshund temperament, which is stubborn, not particularly smart (don’t tell my dogs I said that) and, often, wildly aggressive. When he couldn’t stop Jazzy from going after his standard French poodle, he asked if I could take Jazzy. Well, what could I say? So then I had six dogs. Again. Jazzy's coloring is called blue and tan. I've never met a blue-and-tan dachshund before. And now I own one. Whoopee.
Then, on the 29th, came my umpty-umpth birthday. The minister of my church asked how old I was in dog years, and I figured it out. I’m 476 in dog years, and I’m feeling every one of them, in case you wondered. But I got a lovely pictorial gift from my younger daughter Robin, her husband Gilbert, and my younger grandson, Riki:
One good thing: on December 9, I’ll be flying to North Carolina (if the creek don’t rise and no snow falls anywhere) to visit my grandson, granddaughter-in-law, and two great grands! Now there’s something to be really thankful for.
My contest for this month is choose-your-own book. Send me an email with your name and address, and if Bam-Bam selects your name from the special contest doggie dish, you get to pick your own book. I’m too tired to pick one for you. My email address is firstname.lastname@example.org