It is a Deep Psychosis

When we met, my wife she had a pair of miniature dachshunds. Not being a big fan of little dogs, I was hoping that this was just a passing phase and one morning she would wake up and realize that she had a pair of brown rats for pets. Tens years later the sad fact that this is not a passing phase stares me in the face. It is a deep psychosis. And after many years of gentle and constant reminding (men know to read this as nagging) it has come to my attention that dachshunds are not brown. They come in red, black and tan, brindle, double dapple and many other colors. The color they do not come in is brown. Brain damage received from gentle and constant reminding prevented me from learning that until just recently.

I still do not like little dogs, but in the case of dachshunds, I have made an exception. Despite the brain damage, the psychosis that my wife and her wiener dog friends suffer, has not settled in, but I have come to understand the mutts. To get along with them, you have to realize that they are hunting dogs. Laugh, but it’s true. Dachshund is German for badger dog. The standard size (which can grow to the size of a small basset hound) was bred to go underground after badgers. The dogs were so good at their job that the Germans bred them down to hunt mice and moles and anything else that lives underground. (Now if they could only breed a dog for Western Europe’s above ground rats. You know, the French. Would that be a Froghund?)

My wife calls me a big tough guy, but there are certain things I am not going to do. For instance, I am not going to cover myself in sealskin and walk up to a polar bear for nice a chat. I’m not going skin diving in chum-infested waters to pet a great white shark. And there is no way I’m going underground after a badger. It’s not going to happen. Don’t even ask.

These little dogs are either very brave or incredibly stupid. Either way I have come to understand them better, but did not really warm up to them, until Bogart came along.

We got Bogart as a puppy about 18 months ago. He is a black and red standard. We got him in November and my first inclination that he was not your typical dachshund was when he came in the house with snow all over his face. Dachshunds hate snow and do not venture out in it. My wife has to dig little paths for them in the yard. A couple of days later I watched Bogart walk on the snow crust, his head pointed down. He stopped and cocked his head as if listening then pounced nose first into the snow. He came out with a big black mole in his mouth. He caught at least five that winter.

We also discovered that Bogart is a ball dog. My stepfather had a pair Labradors. I thought they were the ultimate ball dogs. Hawk and Kayliegh played fetch for hours. It got to the point that I started hitting the ball with a bat just to save my arm. Even so, eventually those two would tire.

For Bogart, there is a time and a place for fetching. And that is anytime, anyplace. It started with fetching a tennis ball in our living room that first winter. But after an hour, I’d take a break. Or try to. He learned to toss the ball back at me by flicking it with his mouth. When I ignored that, he took more drastic measures by poking me with the ball sticking out of his mouth. In time I got used to it so now he follows me around the house poking me in the back of the legs with his tennis ball.

Then one day when we were on a road trip, he jumped from the back of the car to the front with a ball he had smuggled in the car and began poking me. I grabbed the ball and tossed it in back, he disappeared and was back in an instant, poking me, with the ball. I know, this is unsafe behavior and we don’t encourage it, but it shows that no space is too small to play fetch with this dog.

It has gotten to the point that even the shower is not safe. Recently I was taking a shower and heard Bogart come in the bathroom. I saw it at the last second. There was a tennis ball in the shower with me. And my foot was moving toward it. Then I was moving toward the floor. I’m not sure how long I was out, but my loving dog did everything he could for me. He woke me up by poking me in the head, with his tennis ball.

Taking a shower has now become an adventure. It’s not enough to simply close the door; he’s too strong. Some dope (I won’t mention any names but for the sake of argument let’s call him me) taught Bogart how to play tug of war. He’s a standard, so he’s pretty big, but playing tug of war has only made him stronger. Bogart does not tolerate closed doors. He bashes them until the latch fails or someone opens it.

Once inside the bathroom the dog stands on the edge of the tub and tosses the ball at me. If I throw it back out, he comes back with it, tossing it back at me. If I ignore the ball, he jumps in the shower, retrieves the ball, jumps out of the shower and tosses it at me again.

Hiding the ball does not work. If he can hunt moles, a tennis ball does not pose much of a challenge. If he can’t find a ball, he just goes to his toy box and digs out one of his other toys, and tosses that in the shower.

I could take away all of his toys, but I’m afraid of what he would bring then.

Did I mention that dachshunds hunt badgers?