First came Houdini, he was a short-haired dapple dachshund with white, gray, black, and brown patches with eyes that seemed to know things. When he was a puppy the black dots on his nose formed a Mickey Mouse head and he was obviously special. He was loyal, protective, and so smart it was astounding. Houdini could sit, lay down, stand on his hind legs, he could speak, shake his paw, left and right, he could twirl, and my favorite was he could roll over, all by my commands. He thrived on structure and routine and kept me on that as well. Houdini even rang a bell to tell us he had to go potty outside. He was clever and I was proud of his sharp wit. He loved me and was politely indifferent to just about everyone else. He was mine; from college chaos to the changes that come with motherhood, he was the constant companion I didn’t always realize I needed. For 14 years, he walked beside me through every season of life, from my early twenties until even my son was ten years old. When it was time to say goodbye, Houdini taught me what mercy truly meant. Losing him left a space in my heart that stayed empty for years. There was a gap in my side where he always nestled, it ached with emptiness, I had extra room in my chair. I needed that chair space to be taken up with his warm little body.
I asked Tony for a new wiener dog. By this time we had 2 beagles; the diamond back sisters, Ruby Sue and Ellie Mae. Angels in their own way, so I was asking a lot of our household. He gave me a checklist. If I were to find another dog for our family, he laid down some stipulations, purposefully difficult and oddly specific. The dog had to be:
A mini dachshund, female, over a year old, preferably a rescue, long haired, potty trained, crate trained, good with kids, generally healthy, and if we are lucky she will have a name from the silver screen.
I began looking online. A bloodhound I was, a real sleuth …
Then came Bonnie. Petite, adorable, five pound Bonnie Blue. As Winnie the Pooh pointed out, “Sometimes, the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.” She was four years old and her owner was struggling to care for her due to the owner’s growing medical issues. It pained her to let Bonnie go and I saw why. A long-haired gray and cream dachshund. Gentle. Loving. Adorable. Sweet beyond words. Where Houdini was a wise and watchful wiener, Bonnie is a docile doxie with a nurturing spirit. She’s the kind of dog that makes you exhale the minute she curls up beside you. Hey, she was also potty trained and came with her own pink crate, which she lovingly slept in nightly.
Bonnie reminded me to go outside for myself when I took her outside to go potty. For me to get fresh air; to be one with nature. She reminded me to make myself warm at bedtime, to be soft with myself when the day felt chaotic. Bonnie reminded me to play; to play with the beagles, my husband, and to play with my son. Bonnie wiggles around us with jovial playful love all the time. She is simply a joy.
She saved me in a quiet way … not with a bark, a lick, or even a trick – but just by being there. Loving her, caring for her, and letting her love me back has grounded me more than any self-help book ever could.
Through both of them, Houdini and Bonnie, I learned that sometimes taking care of a dog means taking care of yourself too. They remind you to get up. Go outside. Stick to a routine. Be gentle. Get food. Drink water. Get exercise. Get rest. Be loyal.
Here’s to the doggos who gave me an excuse to make wiener jokes, and here’s to the wiener dogs who walked me through life one paw at a time.
I hope you all find your preferred companions. Thank you for reading.
Love,
Amanda