Dear Gentle Readers,
We celebrated a very special occassion at the Kauffman house on New Years Eve. My dachshund had his fifteen birthday. He is an old boy now, slow moving, bad joints, can't see too well, and has a plethora of warts. But he still loves to play ball and do tricks for treats, check out all visitors, and sleep in the middle of the bed at night.
I remember the day we got him. February 20, 2000. We drove to a little town in Pennsylvania near Falling Water on a cold, snowy Sunday afternoon to see the doxie pups. Before we got there, we stopped at a McDonald's for "other things" and I bought a small order of Chicken McNuggets and rubbed one all over my hands. When we got to our destination, my husband handled the finance matters and I sat on the floor and played with the puppies. I was a hit! They all loved me! I was able to roll them over and check them out personality-wise.
Soon my husband joined me on the floor and we decided on the runt of the litter, a red smooth with a black streak up his back and a black tail, loaded with charm.
Over the years he lost the black streak, everywhere but on his tail, and was a beautiful red smooth-coat doxie. He's as smart as they come, and stubborn enough to fit in easily with the rest of us.
We often say to each other how did we get so lucky to find such a smart, cute, funny, loving dog. I know he's slowing down and I know the average lifespan of a dachshund. I know it's coming. But for now, we enjoy him every day. We enjoy the walks and his comic antics. We enjoy his snuggles on the couch. When he brings me the ball while I'm writing or cooking or whatever, I stop and play ball until he gets tired. I appreciate him.