Journal of a Living Lady #234
When it comes to
children and adults, some folks tell me I am a good teacher. I hope so since I
have spent most of my adult life doing just that…teaching. But when it comes to
educating dogs, well, quite honestly I flunk.
This summer Buddy and
I acquired a much-wanted miniature red dachshund puppy. She was just six-weeks
old and the pick of the litter. From day one we knew she was going to be a
challenge. Within four hours of leaving her siblings, she walked off our
backyard bridge into the cold, rushing creek. It was a poor introduction to
life with the Kellys. She has been paying us back ever since, or so it seems.
Because she was cute
as a bug and born June 1, we named her Junebug. She has acquired other
well-deserved names since. Chainsaw and Trouble are just two that come to mind.
Don’t get me wrong. We love this conniving puppy.
Junie knows what she
wants and goes for it 110%. When she finds my purse near the floor, she is in sneaky
dog heaven. Junie unzips each compartment, eats the candy, and examines the
checkbook balance. I am reluctantly grateful for those cantankerous, but doggie
proof, medicine bottle caps.
Junebug loves
everybody. She returns the affection of visitors by happily dribbling on their
shoes. Admittedly, housebreaking has been our number one challenge, but we’re
making progress. Buddy takes Junebug outside first thing every morning when
retrieving the newspaper. I make the coffee.
Routinely, Buddy and
I settle into our comfortable recliners with our steaming coffee mugs and the
morning news. On several occasions, poopfume has filled the air as Junebug
smugly deposited her untimely and unwelcome gift beneath a recliner footrest. That
last time, Buddy was the blessed one. In haste, I placed my sloshing cup of
coffee on the side table, threw down the newspaper, and released the recliner
latch. It was an ungraceful attempt to promptly catch and scold the little
villain.
My effort was
wasted. Before I was three feet away from my chair, Junie was casually trotting
back into the den, her little mouth tugging a long line of white toilet tissue.
Oppie, our
ten-year-old
Buddy and I have two
vintage, lightweight couches obtained in an estate sale. The cushions are
covered with tweed cloth, carefully chambered between teak wood frames. Though
Junie hasn’t tried the gourmet wood, she has eaten two tufted buttons and dug
out much of the spongy foam innards from the resulting holes. Unfortunately,
the cushions aren’t reversible and I don’t sew. But, maybe Martha would be proud
of my creativity. In the spirit of shabby sheik decorating, I taped the gaping
holes with masking tape and covered the seating area with a fringed hand-woven afghan.
To protect our remaining
furniture, we began putting Junebug on the screened front porch during our
outings. Not to be outwitted, Junie methodically unraveled the hemp rope to our
giant hammock. Buddy re-wove it, though not too cheerfully. Junebug waited
until an opportune time and unraveled it again. The hammock is no more, but we
have lots of frizzy thick string for sale.
If you see me around
town with mismatched loafers, know that Junebug has hidden the match to both
pair of shoes. Her sharp, puppy teeth probably have made the mates unwearable
anyway. I hereby declare that mismatched shoes are in style.
Everybody who sees
Junebug wants her. Several times I could have sold her on the spot. Her cuteness,
charming personality and indomitable spirit make her marketable. But Junie
isn’t for sale. Some things money can’t buy. Besides, how could I part with the
daily challenge of coping with a lovable, spoiled dachshund? Junebug is safe, the
benefactor of unconditional love.
nancyk@alltel.net
