As
I recall, she cost fifty dollars. According to Google, that’s over $400 today, and
a quick glance for dachshund puppies today shows her to have been a bargain.
Even so, she proved herself worth well more her dollar value; she wiggled that
long little body into our lives, and became our beloved family dog. She had a prominent
overbite, her bottom lip not reaching her top one, that row of top teeth showing
the whole of her life. As her back stretched into adulthood, and her legs didn’t
seem to increase in length much, if at all, her overbite stayed the same, and
for her whole life, her top lip overlapped her bottom lip.
From
the first, she slept with me, a little red bundle pasted to my side at night,
sleeping to my rhythms, beginning the habit I learned to crave off and on throughout
my life: a dog beside me—or between two
people—in the night. As a child of 12, she became the confidant I couldn’t find
at school, the ever-present friend. She learned the cadences of our home,
greeted us at the door with the joy of dogs from time immemorial, and captured
the hearts of her family for the over 13 years she lived.
As
we knew at the time, we did our best with her, taking her for the occasional
walk which started with her excited jumping around, gleefully starting up the
sidewalk, and usually ending with whoever handled the leash picking up and
carrying her home, those legs not able to last the entire walk. Of course, we
should have used consistency and added gradual length to those walks to make
the whole thing more fun for her. But, truly, we did our best with the
knowledge we had, and loved her fiercely and fully—and she returned that love.
At
one point my parents bred her beautiful solid deep chestnut self to a male
dachshund who had the same red, but only on his feet, the end of his nose, and,
if you raised his tail, you could see his shining red little bottom. One
amazing morning we woke to Princess’ seven puppies—five marked just like their
father, two little red miniatures of Princess, one of them complete with her
overbite. A good mother, her problem came with only having six feeding
stations, and my mom got a toy baby bottle, some pablum mixture from somewhere,
and helped her feed her brood. I wanted badly to keep the little girl with the
overbite, but my dad put the kibosh on that, and they never bred her again, a
decision I’m sure Princess appreciated.
But
if dogs are the ever loyal, never changing creatures, children or young people
in a home tend to grow up and leave. First my brother finished high school and
left for college. Though his family missed him, of course, at least we knew
what caused his absence. What Princess knew was that one day he was there, then
he wasn’t. The brave little badger dog, who would have fought any threat to her
family she knew about or could see or find, could not fight the invisible
hazard that had made her boy disappear.
She
couldn’t understand; but she could mourn.
And
one day she, herself, seemed to disappear.
My
mom couldn’t find her; she called her, but got no response from the dog who
lived for her family and always—ALWAYS—ran to answer her name. She looked in
each room; we had no doggy door, so Princess couldn’t go outside with no help.
She checked each bedroom, opened each closet door with a crack in it. And,
then, in the bottom of my brother’s closet on top of some clothes fallen to the
floor lay the little red wiener dog, her misery obvious. “She really had tears
in her eyes,“ my mom said.
By
the time I left, she had adjusted to my brother coming home periodically, happy
to see him, but her allegiance to my mom grew as we came to other times of
life, college taking us away, always happy to see her when I came home. As I
recall, she still came to my bed when I slept there, but age took the toll it
takes on all creatures, and those little “hot dogs” have long backs that can
falter with age, that can, eventually, hinder their movements. So, my parents built
a ramp for her as stairs became a barrier too great for her to overcome.
And
I—I left for a summer in Galveston with a Christian college group, then for a
couple of years in Liberia to teach with a Mission group. I went to graduate
school for a year and when the boy who claimed to love me more than life
itself, who begged me to wait for him as he finished his last year with the
same Mission group. . . . as I finished
my first year of graduate school and that boy decided that, really, he knew I
had done my best, but he actually loved the girl from Mississippi with the long blond hair who moved into my apartment a
few weeks after I left more than he loved me, so I unwisely didn’t finish grad
school but moved to the lovely North Carolina mountains to housesit for friends,
Princess, continuing to age, still continued to offer comfort and love when I
came home, packing and planning before leaving home again. Now she slept more
on her blankets in the corner under my mom’s prized antique railroad desk,
still loved, still a feisty representative of her breed.
Till, one day my
mom called me and said, “Princess has died.”
It
almost broke my mother. An era of my own life ended; the dog who raised me had
died. As so frequently happens, until then, I didn’t realize all she had given
me.
I
know how blessed I was to have that sweet, kind dog love me so as I grew from
child to woman, her little legs moving as fast as she could make them, but her loyal, loving heart as big as any dog alive.
From
Princess I learned what every person who loves a dog knows: that their dog is the best in the
world. . . .. and every person is right. Now I have border collies. But, many
border collie folks I know have a small dog of some kind as well, not infrequently
a dachshund. At times I think I, too, should get a small dog, one you can carry
in one arm. None of my dogs fit that description. Maybe, someday.
Till
then, I know the standard—a little red dog, overbite prominent, who loved me,
who gave me the gift of the dog—that unconditional, ever present heart, that
dogs give. I was fortunate to find that gift early.
With
dogs before her, certainly, but the standard finalized forever in a dog named
Princess.
Lovely!
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