Our oldest dachshund, Mister B, turned 15 today. He’s had a nice walk, extra snacks, lots of pets, and a nap on the bed with mom and dad. Pieces of real chicken with his kibble. I’d take him to the feed store and let him pick out a toy, but one of the younger dogs would just take it over, and there are too many toys as it is. Mostly he’s getting a lot of extra attention, because he’s earned it.
Mr. B was 9 when we brought him home from the dachshund rescue shelter, where he wound up after his first human, an elderly woman who lived by herself, died. The shelter lady said we could adopt him with no fee, being he was old himself, the kind of dog few want to take, but we insisted on giving her a couple of hundred bucks … she had a lot of dachshunds to feed, after all. Donna had misgivings, not because of Mr. B’s age but because he’s a male and up to then we’d had only females. With me it was love at first sight, but I worried he wouldn’t take to me because he’d spent his life to then with a woman.
Neither of us had a thing to worry about, it turned out. He cottoned up to us both right away and from the first day showed us what a good citizen he was, adapting to a new home with new rules. We’re so happy he came to live with us. Every day has been a gift.
A few pix, starting with the ride to his new home: