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Oh my goodness, what a day! Saturday was bad enough as it rained all day, but once in a while, I can cope. Well, when I say ‘I can cope’, it isn’t about me. For some bizarre reason which totally escapes me, I chose to take on two small, silky little dachshunds when I had in fact (and this is absolutely true), said to a friend only days before, with total confidence: “No, I’d never have another dachshund!”
My first dog, the wonderful Henry, was a dachshund, but he was a standard, and there’s a big difference, and I don’t mean the size. Standards are calmer, much quieter, less neurotic, and altogether much easier. After I lost Arthur and Ila, I knew, as anybody who knows me knew, that I could never cope or live my life without dogs. Talking about what I intended to do, this friend asked me if I would consider another dachshund. I meant it when I said no, not because I don’t love the breed but because with their long backs, tiny legs, and horrendous interbreeding, I was concerned about serious health issues. Who knew then that only weeks later I’d be taking charge of my Willow and Bear.
As I write this, I can see the irony of my situation, but I should add that whilst I could have happily given them away yesterday morning, these two little beasties are one of the best things that have ever happened to me. We were meant for each other.
Back to Saturday. When we got up, I had to hoof their furry little bottoms out into the garden for a poo and a pee, but I gave in to them and didn’t take them out in the rain for a walk. They’d had a lot of exercise on Friday, and we played hide-and-treat games and tuggy-tuggy in the afternoon, enjoying the zoomies, so I felt my conscience was clear. On Sunday, we went out for a lovely off-lead walk for well over an hour and played games together early evening.
When we got up yesterday morning, however, I looked out of the window, and my heart sank as I listened to the plink-plink of raindrops bouncing off the roof and saw the rivulets running down the windscreen to pool on my car below. Unaware, the sausages got up as normal and raced downstairs ahead of me to the back door, but as I expected, as soon as they saw the rain, they frantically backpedalled.
My issue was that I had work, so whereas on other days I might simply wait for a break in the weather to take them out, this morning I was on a strict schedule. Getting myself ready and putting it off until I could put it off no longer, I girded my loins and began preparations. I deliberately didn’t put on my shoes or move their leads, but as if by osmosis, they already knew.
Bear ran and hid under the shelves in the sitting room (which means I had to dig him out), and Willow went slinking into the dining room to hide behind the sofa, so that by the time I had armed myself with their waterproofs, I was already on a hiding to nothing. I wouldn’t mind, but these are not just ‘any’ waterproofs! Both dogs have wax, Barbour jackets with hoods and underneath, snuggly, Ralf Lauren onesies for both warmth and comfort. These are hot dogs! Stylish as well as well-protected.
Did they care that they had been provided with the absolute best I could provide? Not on your life!
I tackled Willow first because although she turns those great, big, brown eyes on me, hanging her head and looking dejected, she doesn’t try to escape or resist, meaning I quickly got her dressed and her lead attached. Now Bear, that’s a different matter. I had to struggle under the shelf, rolling and dragging him into a position where I could pick him up, and I should add, he’s like a can on a slope. If I don’t use two hands and pop a foot behind him, as progress is made, he simply flips himself over, rolling into the most inaccessible corners. Eventually, I had him close enough to pick him up and pop him onto my lap, but even then, at every opportunity, he was trying to escape, and I had to work quickly.
Eventually, both dogs suited and booted (and I might add, completely unconcerned about being dressed once achieved), I grabbed my own mac, put on my shoes and made my way out of the front door. It was horrendous. The rain was bucketing down, forming tiny rivers along the lane, and enormous puddles for tiny legs and low chests to cross.
On a separate note, I simply don’t understand how anybody manages hoods on coats without walking out and killing themselves. They either fall backwards, protect nothing or blind you, falling over your eyes, impairing your ability to hear and see, making every step a case of risking life, groping around in the darkness. But, on this occasion, it was the least of my issues.
I managed to encourage, hoof, and drag them down the lane, talking cheerfully to them as if everything was normal, peering out from underneath the dreaded hood while Bear clung to the wall like a lifeline. Willow kept tripping me up, trying to shelter between my legs, every step a battle. As we reached the main road, Bear began to whimper and then wail, but worse, once out on the actual pavement, he decided to up the ante. He rolled over onto his back, his little legs waving and kicking the air as he shouted and protested loudly. I could feel a million eyes on me as neighbours, twitching their curtains, ran for their phones to ring the RSPCA helpline!
Of course, I capitulated, the trauma too hot to handle, so I threw in the towel and turned for home. As soon as Bear realised I was giving in, he bounced up and shot off and with Willow by his side, as they dragged me at full pelt back along the lane to my doorstep.
Falling in through the front door, dripping, I disrobed them as they ran off, happy as Larry to leave me in a puddle of my own making. To add insult to injury, Bear in particular rolled and rubbed himself along my freshly cleaned carpets to dry himself off before I could grab a towel. Needless to say, my first concern (as always) was their welfare, gently drying off snouts and paws, the rest of their silky little bodies fully protected and completely dry.
I’m praying for drier days, and please, if you’re a neighbour, don’t ring the RSPCA. These little dogs are the most pampered, well-cared-for, and loved sausages in the whole world. There is no cruelty here; they’re just, and it pains me to say it, complete drama queens!
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