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Friday, 23 January 2015

Keeping It Real by Frizzy Lizzy

Hi dear friends and followers, it is time for Frizzy Lizzy, take five and read

Keeping It Real by Frizzy Lizzy

Hi, Barb! Sure, I have a few minutes! I just finished paying my bills online and supper is in the crockpot. Pour a coffee and have a seat.

How are things working out for you and your dog? Really? Oh, that's great! I'm so happy for you.

Why don't I get a dog? Sure, it's quiet around here, Barb, and there are times when I think that I could use some company when Charley's not around, but I believe I'll pass on getting another dog.

No, it's not that I don't like animals. I once had a very fine calico cat, the best cat ever to catch mice, in my opinion. I also had a Dachshund and he was a little heartbreaker. After he died I just never felt like getting another pet other than Charley. Sure, I can talk about him.

When I first met Frank and we started going to the campground it was a different experience for me. I expected the campground to be a mess of mud and trailers and it turned out to be well-manicured campsites with well-maintained trailers on them.

I had no idea of how people got on with one another, you know, how to socialize, so I kept my mind open to meeting new friends. I smiled at everyone and spoke to whoever came close enough to hear me say hello.

Anyway, it was Mother's Day and we had Frank's mom with us that weekend. She was a gem in every sense of the word. I still love and miss that woman. It was a warm, beautiful Sunday afternoon in May, warmer than usual.

So we were sitting outside when a group of about six Dachshund puppies wanders into the yard. Now all of them were black with brown markings and they rather much looked alike to the casual observer.

One of the puppies comes up to me and I begin to pet him and immediately he takes a liking to me. I didn't think much of it at the time, really. As I sit there petting him, a woman comes over and apologizes because they are her puppies and they got out of their pen. She takes them in-tow, including the one that came to me, and heads back toward her campsite. I thought no more of it. But Frank had a different idea.

Frank decided that I could use a puppy in my life and he took it upon himself to go and find those Dachshunds and get one for me, and he did just that. He was gone for about a half-hour and he returned with a black Dachshund puppy in his arms.

He gave it to me and told me that it was mine because it came to me and he thought that the dog and I should be together. I thought that he was as nutty as squirrel shit but since it was a nice gesture on his part, I didn't refuse. But I did tell him that the pup that he brought me was not the one that came to me. He asked me how I knew and I told him that I just knew and that was good enough for me.

So back he went to where he found them and came back with another dog. He got it right on the second try.

Now I had never cared for a dog in my life so everything was new to me. I knew that they had to eat, drink, become house trained, go for a walk, and crap before they come in from their walk. Beyond that I knew nothing of how to care for a little black weiner dog. But it was a gift so I was going to give it my best effort.

As the evening drew near we packed our things from the weekend and his mom drove home in her own car, but not until she had given him a piece of her mind about getting me a dog. She was not liking the idea one bit.

As we drove home, we tried to come up with a name for this pup that was all over the car like the wind. He was in the front seat, in the back, on the floor, next to the brake pedal, everywhere but where we hoped he would be - on the towels we placed over the back seat for him.

I chose the name "Sarge" for him because I knew a man called Sarge and both he and the dog had short legs. And we called the dog Sarge.

When we got home I carried Sarge into the house and went to help Frank to unload the car. We got everything from the car and while we were putting things away I poured a drink for Frank and I and made us a bite to eat, all the while never taking notice of Sarge.

We have a drink and our little supper and now it comes time to make a bed for the dog to sleep in. Frank gets a box and an old blanket and puts together what should pass as a dog bed. I get two bowls, one for water and one for the puppy chow that we bought on the way home, and I put them on a tray by the fridge. We are doing all of this for the dog but it never occurs to us that the dog is noplace to be seen.

Finally I ask Frank where the dog is. He says that it's in the house. I ask where. We both look at one another and decide that it's time to find Sarge. We went separate ways and looked in the living room, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and all of the closets, but no Sarge. So we decide to work together and we go into each room like two nuts, calling for a dog that has yet to learn its name!

We looked under beds, under tables, under chairs, in cupboards, we looked everywhere except up on the roof, and we couldn't find that dog. Two hours we looked and no dog! Frank was getting worried about the possibility that it got out of the house as we were bringing things in from the car. We were really upset because he had paid $150 for a Dachshund puppy that was nowhere to be seen. Every light in the house was on and the neighbors possibly thought that we were going crazy with all of the noise we were making, but no dog was found.

I was about ready to get a chair and sit outside of the front door and wait, just in case Sarge did get out and found his way back home when I turned and went into the living room. Something odd caught my eye, just the tiniest gleam of light. It was on the black lounge chair, like a tiny pinpoint in the deepest recesses of outer space.

I walked slowly to the black lounge chair and learned that the little glint of light was coming from the white of the eyeball of a little black dog. Apparently Sarge had found his way on top of the lounge chair and had taken a nap. A black dog on a black chair in the dark corner of the room became a masterful act of camouflage. Naturally he was in the last place I looked.

Of course I was happy to find him and to pet him and lavish affection on him. What else was I to do to make him feel that he was a part of the family? But I am willing to bet that if that dog could have laughed, he would have had a good guffaw on the two of us that night!

What's that? How long did I have him? Well, Frank and I married and we had that dog for 7 years.

He was a good dog, did everything that a Dachshund should do. They are not a very protective dog. How do I know? He used to go out when the UPS driver came to the house and we would always find him in the truck, ready to go for a ride. They are not very territorial. He did not care wno came to the house or why. If he decided to chase something and get gone, that was it, he flew after it and would stay away for hours at a time.

And he was never fully house-broken. Now that was a standing joke. I would take him out for a walk before I left for work and he selfom took a shit for himself. I would bring him back in and turn on the radio to give him some feeling of company. More often than not, I would find a wad of shit in front of the radio when I got home. If he didn't like the music I wish that he would have told me!

I miss the little bugger.

Thank you very much again, dear friends, for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. have a great Week.
ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

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