Welcome, wiener dog
July 27th, 2008
The wisest counsel I ever received came in the form of a cliché from any number of older, wiser people: Never say never.
It’s a phrase that’s not used so much anymore. I think it may have been replaced by: It is what it is. A statement that’s inanity is matched by its usefulness. A modern-day takeoff on Que sera, sera. I can’t see Doris Day singing “It is what it is,” however. Maybe Queen Latifah.
Back to Never say never. A month ago, I told Olivia that I would never raise another puppy. “It takes a lot of time and patience and it’s a lot of work,” I told her in my best worldwise motherish tone of voice.
Cut to the present. If you were in my home right now, you would find at my feet - beneath the computer desk - a small black dog curled nose to rear in a tight ball. We have adopted – again.
At my job, one of the things I do occasionally is post photos of unwanted pets in residence at the Shenandoah County Animal Shelter. When I posted the pictures about a month ago, I took a look on the website to see who else was in residence. Lots of cats. A few dogs. And on the last page was Cletus, the 11-week-old dachshund/terrier mix.
On my way home at lunchtime to let our two old dogs out, I knew I should just keep driving, but I stopped at the shelter just to take a look at him. I walked into the puppy room and he was the first to come to greet me. He was in a large kennel by himself. The kennel was dedicated to Ben – the favorite border collie of a friend of mine who has been very active in local and statewide rescue and the humane society. It seemed like karma was building on the side of the weiner dog.
I took him from the kennel and he immediately covered me with puppy kisses as I tried to take a look at his face. The terrier influence is evident. He has big feet on his longish body and little turned over ears that look more like a Jack Russell than the soft flaps of a dachshund.
My immediate concern, of course, was “Will my cranky old dogs like a puppy in the house?”
We are down to two dogs. Major is 10 this year and Brownie will be 13. They are both big dogs and big dogs don’t always like small dogs.
called the my husband to tell him I found a wiener-dog. “You found what?” he yelled at me from the field where he was riding a tractor mowing hay.
“A wiener-dog.”
“We don’t need another dog.” He muttered something else under his breath that was lost in the roar of the tractor.
“Whatever. I’ll talk to you later.” I was disappointed. But I knew I could sway him if I really wanted to get the dog.
I went back to work and I just kept thinking about that little dog in the shelter. I had put a hold on “Cletus” – the unfortunate moniker someone had given him. When I called back someone was actually in the shelter and interested in the dog. “What are they like?” I asked – prepared to let him go to a happy family with happy children.
The couple was nice enough, but they seemed a little snooty, the staff member said. “I’ll be there at 3,” I told her.
By the time the Ump came home, I had introduced “Cletus” to Brownie and Major with mixed results.
“Is there a wiener-dog in here?” he asked as he stomped into the house. The little dog’s eyes grew wide when he saw the tall man come through the door and his tail wagged so hard his whole hind end shook. It was love at first sight.
The next day, I was driving to Harrisonburg when I noticed I had a voicemail message on my cell phone. It came in at 4 p.m. the day before. “If you want to get that wiener-dog, go ahead and get him today, I guess. I’ll see you at home. I love you.”
I laughed. Of course, I had already picked up the dog, signed the papers and was playing with him at home by that time he left the message for me giving me permission to get the dog. I know my husband. He has a huge heart for animals in need of rescuing - as do I.
That is who we are. It is what it is.