NOTE FROM CAROL: We Got a New Puppy!

We Got a New Puppy!

Dear Gentle Readers,

We got a new puppy!

After my faithful companion of eighteen years KC (dachshund #4 and no, Russia, KC is not my password) died a year and a half ago, I avoided the conversation about getting another dog. I avoided the mere thought of it. After eighteen years, KC wasn't a dog. He was family. Worse yet, he was my baby, my pal, my confidante. 

He knew when I was upset or hurt when I easily hid it from everybody else. He never left my side if I was ill or had to go to the bathroom. He was full of cuddles and unconditional love. I didn't have to DO anything, like cook, clean, be pleasant, or look halfway decent. All I had to do was be there and be me. He could not be replaced by the act of bringing a new dog into our home.

So I grieved some more. Eventually, I missed the tail wags, early morning face licks like you just came home from the war, and the doggie excitement of rolling a ball down the hallway and having someone bring it back. 

We searched the dachshund rescue sites. Two of the four dachshunds we've had in our married life were rescues.  However, this time I couldn't find one in the tri-state area that looked like a mini-dachshund. If you have never rescued an animal in your life, it is something to add to your bucket list. You won't be sorry. 

I remember distinctly the day I lifted our little Maxie (dachshund #3) out of the cage at the Animal Welfare League in Lordstown, Ohio. He was a three pound bag of bones with a bandaged paw where the IV infusion was.  And the scariest little face I ever saw. I wasn't sure he would make it. I did know, however, I would make sure whatever time he had left would be full of food and fun and hugs and a big warm bed and nobody would ever be mean to him again.

It was winter. He sat curled up in my hat in the passenger seat as we drove home. I talked to him the whole way. I chattered on and on about ???.  I just wanted him to get used to my voice. 

We got home before my husband returned from work. When he came in, he said "That is not a dachshund. That is a rat." 

But it didn't take long for Maxie to win him over. He thrived and soon was a whooping five pound dynamo and the smartest little guy! We had that beautiful, wonderful puppy for ten years before oral cancer took him away. 

Enter dachshund puppy #5, Lily Rose, pictured above. And the adventure continues!

Hugs,
Carol