So, I grew up with a dachshund, Missy and a whippet,
Heather. They were very different
creatures. Missy was clever as a
fox and if it suited her could figure out the code to a safe. Heather was the
sweetest thing, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. Heather has her own story but this one
belongs to Missy.
We knew we wanted a dachshund. Missy the only girl, out of a litter of 6, jumped all
over her brothers. She was clearly
ours. For a low riding dog she had
a big personality, big bravado and within a short period of time, she had us
all figured out.
She was young when we noticed she was putting on
weight. It seemed odd, we didn’t
over feed her (at this point) and she was always on the run. What could it be? After a few months we discovered her
little trickery. We’d let her out
to run around, and she would go to our next-door neighbor, bark at their door,
and they let her in. Oh, look,
Missy’s here! And they’d feed her. When she was done, they let her out and
she went on to following next-door neighbor, bark at their door, and they let
her in. What fun, Missy’s
here! And they’d feed her. And then she’d come home for
dinner! And we’d feed her! She was gaming the entire neighborhood.
One early wintery morning it was my turn to walk Missy. It was freezing cold and I must have
been about twelve and she two. I
was half-asleep, wanting to get the walk over with, when I sensed that Missy
was prancing. I looked down and
she had a bird in her mouth. I
could not get her to drop the bird. She was very proud of her accomplishment. It was her bird and she was keeping it.
She walked down the street with a swagger, and a cartoon bubble saying – “I’m
bad, I’m bad, I gotta bird, I’m bad!” I knew she couldn’t bring the bird into
the house and she wasn’t letting it go, so I rang the front bell and got my
dad.
It wasn’t until my dad was on his deathbed that I learned how
he got her to drop the bird. He tried tickling her, no. He put the hose on her,
no. Remember it was freezing.
Finally he grabbed her by her hindquarters and shook her. That did it. Down went the bird.
Our next door neighbors decided to get a dog of their own
and opted for two. German Shepherds.
They would come out, bark for Missy, she insisted that she join them,
out she’d go and back forth they went barking and running with each other. For hours. She would run as if her back legs were trying to catch up with her front legs. Although these dogs looked
scary, we all knew who ruled that pack.
I remember how determined she was to get the left over chicken
off the kitchen counter.
She wanted it and she was going for it. She gave her best vertical leap repeatedly until she finally
made it. The chicken landed on her
back, but her rewards were quickly rebuffed as we placed the chicken in the
trash. Chicken bones and dogs are
not a good thing.
Missy was quite the
character. She was the boss of us
and knew it. Inches off the ground
but mighty and fierce. What a
fabulous combination.