I am going to take a break from blogging about the writing process to talk about my BFF Zoey the Cute Dachshund, a miniature, long-haired dachshund that turned six yesterday on Saturday, Dec. 20.
On Feb. 20, 2008, I found her at a pet store, though I planned to rescue a dog or cat, when she was nine weeks old. I figured I should wait a day before taking her home, so I came back the next day with my mother. We both held her and fell in love, or I re-fell in love. I think it was when she leaned her adorable 2.8 pounds against our chests, snuggling in and making a sighing, contented sound.
At her new home, she started exploring right away, sniffing around the edges of the floor and going down the hallway. I immediately tried to kennel her, but the first night, she whined so loudly, I couldn’t handle the heartbreak in her pity-me cries.
I let her out onto my bed, saying more to myself than to her, “Just this one time, okay?” As if. One time became a second and a third and a habit.
Now, she sleeps with me except in the mornings when she zooms under the bed to avoid her start-the-day walk (one of two or three I try to fit in to get her empty and exercised).
I have to lure her with treats, or it could be she’s manipulated me into thinking that I have to give her the treats to get her to go. The treats are healthy, or I’d be worried about her weight given that every time the thought of leaving the house with her along enters my mind, she’s gone.
I think she’s adorable, especially her expressions and the intelligence in her eyes. She looks at me as if she’s full of thought, trying to figure out why I’m doing what I’m doing or what I’ll do next. She comforts me when I’m sad. And she’s there whenever I need a kiss (unless I think about kissing her at the same time I think she needs a walk).
Here is a photo of me and my babe: