We adopted a second dachshund yesterday. Her name is Maxie. We think she’s a year or so younger than Schatzi.
The dog was originally a boyfriend’s pet. Maxie (full name Maxine) wound up with the girlfriend, who is the daughter of our friend Lorri, moving from apartment to apartment (five in the last year alone), eventually being left with Lorri, who already has two dogs of her own.
We don’t know anything about her medical history, but our friend is checking on that. Maxie has pet registration tags from Maricopa County, so we’re confident she had all her puppy shots. And surely, if she were not spayed, she’d have been a mother several times by now. But we’re confirming all that for our own peace of mind.
Schatzi and Maxie are getting along like littermates. Schatzi settled right into her role as alpha, or as they so crudely say these days, top. Last night when we went to bed, Schatzi crawled into her sleeping bag on the floor near our bed, as usual. After padding around the bedroom for an hour, Maxie hopped up onto the rocking chair by our bed and curled up too. When I woke up this morning they were both under the covers with us … Donna must have gathered them up during the night. They’ve been playing today, with a nap break around one … both of them on my lap in the recliner. Tonight we’re taking them downtown for our Monday night walk.
We were ready for another dachshund. Actually, we’ve been talking about it for a couple of years now. We sensed our lives needed more … cowbell? No, not cowbell, something else … what’s the word I’m searching for? Woofage? Yes, that’s it … more woofage!
© 2011, Paul Woodford. All rights reserved.