To Dog or not to Dog

If the people don't change their minds, the question has been answered. To dog.

It took me this long to be ready to dog again. It's been hard the last few years watching one old dog after another decline into their dotage and pass into the beyond.

They were great dogs, all three of them, I was truly privileged to own them and work with them. 

But when Nick passed on I needed a break. A break from nursing, carrying in and out of doors, cleaning up, attempting to tempt with succulent foods. Old dogs are wonderful, beloved, precious shells of their young and vibrant selves, but I won't pretend that watching them shrink and fail was fun.

The past few weeks I have itched for a dog. Oh, there are dogs here at the farm, Gil the mad-man-about-town English shepherd, and the ancient blue heeler, Wally, who is losing ground himself, but they are very much not my dogs.

In fact this is probably the first time in forty years or more that I have been dogless. The empty crate in the office has been staring at me, accusing......A dog could sleep here....it could lie in the kitchen, wag its tail, be a pal.....it could perhaps smell better than Gil and not knock me out of my chair when I stroke its head.

Hmmmmm.......

Then a dog known well to family members put itself in disgrace for (allegedly) killing three valuable turkey poults. It needs an alternate venue. I need a dog.

It is of all things a long haired dachshund, perhaps the least likely dog in the world for me. It may arrive this week. 

If the people don't change their minds.