Touch

Viggo likes to have his head massaged. below the ear, above the ear, around and around....grr-ahhhh it feels so good. 

But it occured to me recently that this need he has for affection could never be met by his own birth mother. Besides the harsh reality of her physical distance, she would lack the ability to apply gentle rubs by the very fact that her hand is a paw.  

My hands however apply just the right pressure. They also dole out treats and fasten his jacket when the cold temps make the wild too unbearable for small pups on big job missions. I would say all in all, hands are the dogs bee's knees.

   

Dinner is a Dish Best Served Rare

People choose to embrace some things and reject others. This doesn't necessarily make them precious but it does make them interesting. The only way to achieve interesting is to be interested (in anything, doesn't matter what.) Viggo takes an active interest in us and the things we allow him to eat. Good interests.

Of course, Viggo eats the same food everyday. I don't feel sorry for him in regards to this fact; knowing how expensive each bag is, he is hardly eating gruel. And of course he doesn't know that he is eating the same food everyday (an ignorance I envy frankly). We put on such a pep rally when the food bowl comes out he probably thinks he's getting kobe beef in a solid gold bowl. 

So begins his eating ritual.

He prefers to eat on the run. Literally. Eating and chasing are a mash-up for Veegs- when he works up speed he stops for a bite. Its how I imagine cops run their business. When stopped, the requiste table manners do not apply. Mouths are open, chewing is loud and paws are most definitely in the bowl. But the curious part of the routine is the attention Veegs gives to each morsel. Yes, they are all the same shape, same size and presumably same smell but Viggo self-selects his bites. Some are gobbled up, others are put in the mouth to be spit out in a location far away from the bowl. Occassionaly he goes back to those bites that appear to be banished in time-out, but usually not. He stops when he's tired or full from the play or the food. It could be either or neither. But it's okay we don't know exactly. Its the not knowing that keeps him so very interesting. 

I'm not alone in my wiener writing.

The Dachshund's affectionate
He wants to wed with you:
Lie down to sleep,
And he's in bed with you.
Sit in a chair,
He's there.
Depart,
You break his heart

E.B. White

Our Winter Collection Has Arrived

Say what?

Three years of public school French have enriched my life. I can go to any patisserie in Paris, say, "Je veux" and point-making the biggest croissant in the case mine.  I am not able to carry on more than a one-sided conversation, centered around my own selfish (and often food based) demands but that is how most native English speakers treat language in America, so I figure I even out the scale.  

No, the real linguist of the family is Viggo. By way of being a dachshund, Viggo will tilt his head when Peter and I speak and stare directly at us with his unblinking round eyes. He lives in a constant stay of awareness (disproving any ludicrous theories that napping is for the lazy.) When we talk he searches our words for meaning. He desperately wants to comprehend, which is obviously why he was built with such a long neck to crane. He listens, quietly, for trigger words. These include: go, out, trip, Sammy/Rocky (best pup mates), treat, and walk. As soon as one of those words is released into his ears he starts to party. It starts with running a victory lap around our place and is followed with him lunging up our legs-as if to say, "did YOU hear what I get to do?"

As a modern pup mom, I am very proud of his ability to process information but I am also riddled with guilt that I am not doing enough for him. Should I be looking for bone scented flash cards? Should I even be speaking English to him-what if he prefers Japanese? These are questions that will just have to remain unanswered for now. 

I would share these fears with anyone that is looking for a dachshund to parent as its not easy having gifted child. 

Doggy Doors

We give Viggo the world or at least a Northwest, Continental USA portion of it. This weekend we took him to beautiful Cannon Beach where he frolicked in the sand and rain. To repay us for his much needed holiday he locked us out of the Jeep while we popped in for a quick coffee. Probably wasn't Peter's slickest move, leaving the keys in the ignition-at the very least I am concerned Viggo has intuited how to drive (isn't sticking ones head out the window of the car the first thing teenagers do when they are street legal? See, step one: passed)

Luckily Viggo didn't move the car but he did do a very curious thing. Rather than thrash and whine (like a drunk prostitute brought in for questioning) as he does when left alone at home- Viggo was calm during the hour we spent waiting for the lock guy. We spent much of the hour at the door window, like fools, trying to coerce him into pushing his paws on the unlock button. We probably looked like a backwards zoo. The small guy in the passenger seat serenely observed us as we flailed the hand not holding a latte around in the air. I guess we weren't much of a show though, at one point he took a nap. 

Considering how Viggo loves nothing more than to impersonate a guard dog, I would have thought he would have been worried for us. Here he was, ensconced in leather and bags of snacks and there we were, under a rain cloud and near other small dogs dressed in sweaters. But no, he didn't seem to mind in the least bit that we were in harms way.

Oprah tells us that Maya Angelou once said, "you never truly know a person until you see them deal with lost luggage." Today I met my dog. He's crafty with tools and calm under pressure. 

 

Reuniting and it feels so good.

After 24 hours away from this little friend, hearts begin to ache. In this picture, Viggo reminds us that while he is happy to see us again, he hasn't forgotten who did the leaving.