A Fuzzy Thing Happened one Saturday

Dog. Going on months, I had been thinking about getting a dog. The chief impediment was that I could not make up my mind what kind. Earlier in the year, when we took the cat to the vet I stood for a long time before a large chart of “Dogs of the World” carefully examining the pictures of each breed and liking most of them.

Several indecisive weeks later, my roommate, Michael, brought home a book of Dogs of the World with pictures, specifications and little blurbs on what the breed was good for and bad for. I liked most of those dogs too and since most of them were good for something I couldn’t really think of a reason not to get one of whatever it was.

Living in an apartment, we obviously could not get an Irish Wolfhound or an Hungarian Ropemop, but that still left a huge range of dogs between “shorter Lab” and “more than Chihuahua.” I tended toward medium height, 30 pound, short-hairs or terrier types with a “standard” open face, doggie smile.

“Would you ever consider a Dachshund?” Michael asked somewhat tentatively.

"A dachshund? A yippy yappy weener dog? Are you crazy?"

Even more tentatively Michael mumbled, “They’re great dogs....”

“No way! I don’t want some hyperventilating toy thing running around and snapping at everything.”

No... I wanted a dog I could go running with, toss sticks for, maybe take camping; not some hysterical misshapen dwarf with back problems.

“Really, they’re great dogs,” Michael said, “we had them at home.”

“You had a dachshund?” I broke out into derisive laughter.

I could see that Michael took offense. “You don’t know what you’re saying. We had a wirehaired dachshund and they’re great dogs.”

I had never heard of a wirehaired dachshund. Micheal showed me what they looked like in the Dog Book and explained that they were mellower than the short hairs and very impish and funny.

“Well maybe so,” I said, “but I don’t want a dachshund.” .

-o0o-

Several weeks past and the dog issue remained in abeyance when Michael came to the door of my office to announce that he was going to Modesto.

“Modesto? What for?”

“There’s a breeder down there, who’s just had a litter of wirehair dachshunds.”  [1]

I got real emphatic. I told Michael that I did not want no dachshund. This was a joint decision and we’d have to agree on the dog.

“I’m just going to go look.”

“Well, I don’t know what for. I’m serious, Mike, do not bring back any dachshund. Promise me.”

He promised he wouldn’t.

- o0o-

Late at night, Michael came back. Alone. In the morning, he showed me a Polaroid picture of what looked to me like a bunch of fuzzy brown piglets and explained that the litter had produced only one male, the runt, where the arrow pointed.

“Lots of detail,” I said, sarcastically and handed him back the photo.

“Well I took some videos too,” he said.

" Maybe later."

“Oh...c’mon... It’ll just be a few minutes, give it a look.”

Michael was obviously trying to sell me on this dog. I wasn’t interested but figured I could at least play along.

The cam’s screen showed a not very clear picture of a largish hamster-like thing walking unsteadily and not very happily on some back porch pathway.

“His sisters are always biting him and pushing him away from their mothers teat,” Michael explained.

“That’s too bad,” I said.

“He’s very sweet.”

“Maybe so. I’m sorry he’s being picked on, Mike, but I really don’t want a dachshund, okay? I’m serious.”

Michael let it rest.

-o0o-

Ding Dong.....

I looked up from the couch were I was having a late Saturday morning coffee. “Who the hell could that be?” I wondered.

“It’s Sue, the breeder, from Modesto,” Michael said as he rushed to push the buzzer.

“The what?!! Michael!!!”

He was out the door, headed for the elevators.

“Michaeellll!!!”

Moments later, Michael reappeared at the door with Sue, a broad, cheerful woman in her fifties holding a black basket in her arms. As I walked toward the hallway, Sue bent down and let this fuzzy thing out of the basket. It all happened so fast.

It stood there in the hallway, a little uncertain, but looking straight at me, as I looked straight down at him. We moved toward one another and next I knew I was on the floor and he was in my arms.

[2]
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