For the Love of a Mini Shouter!

Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.

Every morning we follow the same ritual – up by seven, breakfast for the sausages and a cup of lemon tea for me, before conducting my ablutions while the sausages go back to bed. Once ready to go downstairs, I peel back the covers to reveal two hot, furry, little beans, wrapped around each other and…I sing to them.

What do I sing? The ‘time to get up’ song, I know, I know, that old chestnut, but they think it’s original and enjoy it. Why do I sing to them? Because it’s our signal that it’s time to get up and go downstairs. At the point in the song where I name them and kiss their velvet noses, Willow immediately readies herself to leave the warmth of the duvet, whilst little Bear burrows right in. Of course, resistance is futile, and by the end of the song, Bear is quickly whisked up into my arms (before he can roll away) and unceremoniously plopped down onto the hall carpet, facing the right direction. Even this detail is important because if he’s facing back towards the bedroom, he flees back into the room and the comfort of my bed like a truculent teenager.

It can then take me several moments while I have to negotiate, flat on my stomach, coaxing him out from under the bed while he does everything he can to evade me. Interestingly, once actually downstairs, he’s perfectly happy and ready to start his day, while Willow is tapping her paws, excitedly waiting for leads and harnesses to go on, signalling walkies!

Well, I say that but, bizarrely, while they both want to go out, putting the harness on is another ordeal. I try to sneak them into the sitting room where, realising what I’m doing, they have already fled to their snuggle sack.

As I approach, Willow bursts forth and begins bouncing around the furniture to escape my clutches, but as she’s easier to catch, I often abandon her in order to trap Bear inside the sack. If I’m quick and can get him before he escapes, all is well, but if he gets wind, he’s suddenly able to engage his superpower. For such a ploddy little Bear, he’s suddenly like lightning. He can slip past me at such speed I don’t even see him going to burrow himself on the dog bed behind the side table, where getting him out is a real pain. Will he come out of his own accord? Nope, and no cajoling or offering of treats will make any difference.

I can’t get in there. I have to sit on the pouffe, lean in, rest my chin on the shelf and roll and slide him, like a dead weight, towards the opening with one hand. If I don’t get my foot in quick enough behind him, he deliberately rolls backwards, making any progress entirely null and void. After several attempts and success finally achieved, I lift him onto my lap, where – rubbing his little tummy and kissing his nose – I remonstrate softly with him as I fit his harness. Ridiculously, once both dogs are attired, they bounce enthusiastically behind the front door as if I’m the one keeping them waiting!

Once out, I try to vary the places we go to keep things interesting and the smells exciting. Most people don’t know that dogs get as much exercise from rootling around following their noses as they do by actually walking miles, and little Bear (because of his physical challenges) is not big on walking. Willow just loves to be free, meeting doggy friends and playing chase, but as Bear has a habit of using his super power again, suddenly going back to the car at lightning speed if the weather is inclement or he’s bored, I have to be on my guard. This means ringing the changes is imperative.

Meeting best friends Hattie and Rosie, we go to the cricket ground, where we also avoid getting trampled on by Penny (a young, delightful, overexcited lab). Thankfully, all the owners are now friends, so as well as Willow having a wonderful time bouncing and chasing, we have a good old chin wag. This alone is precious for all of us, them and myself, as being Willow and Bear’s owner, it means that we are never alone or lonely.

On Wednesdays, we tend to go to the Centenary Fields, where it’s not about the dogs or dog owners, but about great smells, long grasses, woodland tracks, beautiful scenery, mindfulness and a good variety of walks that actually keep Bear moving and interested. That said, we also occasionally walk the Great Field (where we met a lovely Teckel) and, locally, Sandringham play park, where we’ve also met a variety of lovely dogs and owners, who are all very tolerant of Willows’ incessant, nervous barking and chasing.

On that note, it was interesting that this week at Sandringham I met a lovely lady who said, “Is that ‘the’ Willow and Bear?” something that happens increasingly often these days and yet never ceases to surprise me. Of course, it shouldn’t. Dorchester is a small place, and writing on the internet obviously means my little missives of dog tales are read by an audience, but it never ceases to both surprise and delight.

The thought that these two little sausages with their sad, violent past should have overcome the odds to become loved, understood online minor celebrities is just a constant joy for me. They’ve come such a long way in the 14 months that they’ve been in my care. Although we still have a way to go, I genuinely believe the kindness shown to them has formed part of their development into strong, more confident, happy little doglets.

I hope, if nothing else, my highlighting of the lives of Willow and Bear means that more people will think a bit more about getting a Dachshund. They are, absolutely, delightful little dogs who are hugely affectionate, but they’re not by any stretch of the imagination easy!

They often won’t walk or go out in the rain, can chew a whole chair in one sitting, have house training issues (linked to the weather), are stubborn, really needy, can be snippy and reactive, have some seriously expensive health issues linked to their tiny legs and long backs and – above all else – are often very, very loud. They will bark at snails on the wall, spiders crossing your carpet, a change in the wind direction, almost anything and everything but never, ever for nothing (well, not in their eyes).

All that said, I wouldn’t change anything about my ‘dachshund life’, but as an ancient retiree, I have the time and space to devote to them. Am I proud of them? Enormously, and do I love the kindness, understanding and attention my writing about them has given them? Definitely.

For that, I thank you, all those people who have followed their adventures since they came into my life. Together, we’ve turned their little lives around, so please don’t stop reading or introducing yourselves to us when you see us. We genuinely appreciate your concern. Every person who shows them kindness improves their socialisation.

So what can I say?…Just a big, fat thank you!

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