My parents have a dachshund named Mandy. I let myself into their house the other day when they were gone, only to find Mandy lying on one of their recliners, listening to classical music. He has a good life!!
I never liked it when anybody called my sweet little Fritzie a "wienie dog." But here I am calling him that very thing. It just made for a good title.
We had several dogs when I was growing up. I don't remember particularly bonding with any of them. But when I was college age, Mom and Dad got a little dachshund named Tuppence (she had been Penny when they got her, but Tuppence seemed more sophisticated - a British coin instead). Tup gave them several beautiful litters of pups, and I adopted one of those my first year of teaching. Unfortunately, she didn't adapt well to being by herself all day, and became accustomed to eating my shoes - only one of each, of course. At that time, I had good Italian leather shoes that I wore to teach school - high heels on my feet all day. No wonder I have bad feet today!
I ended up giving Mindy away to a loving family and stayed petless for quite a while. That changed after I was married and had children and they were growing up afraid of all dogs. We started watching the paper and one day found an ad for a litter of dachshunds for sale (DC was also fond of this breed and had one as a kid). He made the trip over to the house and there were two left. One ignored him completely, and the other one headed right into his lap and into his heart.
It was a Wednesday night just before dinner when he made the trip back with the money (far more than we ever intended to pay), and brought this wonderful gift into our home and our lives. We had to go to choir practice, so I tried to devise a way to keep him safe and off the fairly new carpets while we were gone. Nothing doing. He got out of everything I tried. I ended up taking him to church with me under my coat. He was so tiny!
One Sunday morning we were outside showing him off to some neighbors when a tomcat came around, thinking he had found his breakfast. He headed straight for Fritz. Thankfully, I already had my purse over my shoulder, which I wielded at that cat's head and sent him packing.
Fritz became a huge part of our family, for such a tiny little creature. He was very affectionate and liked to be very close to each of us at different times.
He truly exhibited the best thing about pets - unconditional love, no back-talk, total forgiveness, and such eagerness to see you at the end of the day. He knew when we were coming down the culdesac, would be up on the chair watching out the front window, hear the garage door open, and be at the back door before we could get there.
He was also very helpful! Here he is serving as a weight for me as I did my daily exercise with a video (note the bags of beans I used for weights - recommended by Debbie Reynolds as I exercised with her each day).
When we traveled, he went along. He wasn't content to sit in the middle of the front seat beside us, or in the back seat with the kids - no, he had to be right on my lap - no matter how hot it was that day!
When Kristen came home from anorexia treatment at Remuda Ranch, which she discusses HERE, Fritz was her constant companion, and made her recovery much easier.
Fritz lived to be 14 years old, slowing down and going gray at the end of his life. He had his own bed in the basement, which he loved, but had to be carried down there the last few weeks of his life. He exhibited old age as many of us do, with gray hair, but never lost his fun personality:
Fritz died in his little bed, peacefully, on Valentine's day when he was 14 years old. It was the day after Kev's birthday, and we were thankful it wasn't a day earlier. He's buried in our back yard. He will always be in our hearts. We have never replaced him. He is irreplaceable.