Dachshund Chronicles:  Chapter 24

Dachshund Chronicles: Chapter 24

“I’m so exhausted,” Roper whined to Harry. “I had to come into the office last night, just to get some sleep, you know. Those new kids are so loud and Fluffy is still refusing to let me sell them. She won’t even let me send them to The Beaver Military Academy until they’re older.” He spun lazily in his chair, and watched Harry file papers in the cabinet near his desk.

Harry nodded sympathetically and continued to work.

“And now,” Roper tapped his foot in agitation, “the twins are saying it’s time they go out into the world on their own and Fluffy is all upset about that. I tried to calm her down and said it would be a great idea for them to leave because we wouldn’t have to mess with taking care of them anymore and she thumped me. Right on the snout!” he declared indignantly.

“Where are the twins planning to go, Sir?” Harry inquired, hoping to lead the conversation away from a rant about Fluffy’s abuse.

“Well, it seems that Griff has a school chum who lives in New Vole City. Griff says he wants to go there and be an international play-dachshund. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but it’s got his mother pretty unhappy.”

“I think, Sir, that it means he wants to move to the city and party all the time at your expense, Sir.”

“Oh, well. I don’t see why Fluffy’s so mad about that? Sounds like a greatjob to me!” Roper sipped from his mole waters. “What do you think, Harry? Doesn’t that sound like a great job?”

“I don’t think it actually qualifies as a job, Sir,” Harry pointed out, filing the last of the documents. “Perhaps that’s why Fluffy is less than thrilled?”

“She never wants anyone to have any fun,” Roper said sourly. “You get a new log and all you want is for her to help you test it out and she gets all angry and says you never do anything she wants to do. She’s so selfish – it’s no wonder she’s against poor Griff. The poor boy just wants a chance to live a little and there she is, squashing his dreams for a bigger, better log.” He gulped his drink and spun the chair.

“What about Taffy, Sir? What’s her plan, Sir?” Harry tried again to steer the topic to something less volatile.

Roper snorted indelicately. “She says she’s signed some sort of contract with a modeling agency in the city. She’s going to be on the cover of magazines and do television commercials and such. She’ll make tons of money. Says she’ll be wearing the latest fashions and have a team of professionals who follow her around making sure she looks good every minute of the day. Fluffy’s practically packing her bags to go along, she’s so excited over the whole deal. Can you imagine a more frivolous waste of time than spending day after day doing nothing but thinking about your clothes and how you look and having people chase around after you taking care of your every need?” He rolled his eyes. “Really,” he added, “I always thought she was the smart one!”

Harry’s tone was mild. “Of course, Sir. It’s terribly embarrassing. I don’t know how you’ll be able to show your face in the Under Dome in light of her mortifying shallow-ness.”

“Exactly,” Roper replied. “It’s humiliating. At least Griff will be doing something noble and worthwhile.” He shook his head. “Fluffy has her priorities all in a jumble.”

“Indeed, Sir, indeed,” responded Harry sardonically.

Georgie Speaks

Georgie Speaks

I realize it’s been some time since my Independence Day post.  I have been struggling with such fatigue and have found it most difficult to manage both my duties within the Family Bed and my obligations to you, gentle readers.  Additionally, my Mama Dog has been in desperate need of a Social Secretary – someone to screen visitors and make appointments with other family members – and I simply could not refuse to offer her my assistance. It’s a rather mundane job, but my work with troubled Companions has made me specially suited to the task.

I have been resting as much as possible, though I am still deeply, deeply tired from the release of my W.O.I.D. (Wrath of Irish Dachshund) over the Fourth of July holiday.  An unexpected water outage on the 4th delayed the actual celebration until the 5th.  Bachmann swears he had nothing to do with the leak in the water line, but I don’t believe him.  Forcing the celebration to be held on the anniversary of the Battle of the Manolada in 1316 is just too much of a coincidence.  Bachmann is well known to have a fetish for the Infante Ferdinand of Majorca, and any opportunity he can find to dredge up that old chestnut … well, he takes it.  If I have to hear him rant about how Ferdinand was robbed of his rightful claim to the Principality of Achaea, I’m going to boil his macaroni art.  Gah …

Even though my family’s celebration was a day late, it was no less spectacular.  I’m told the grilled hamburgers were quite tasty.  As I wasn’t given the option of trying one for myself, I must go with popular opinion on that subject.  I tried to preserve my strength as much as I could during the day, anticipating the release of my W.O.I.D. later on.

Once the fireworks began, I was able to put out a prolonged and impressive display of Irish Dachshund power.  Here I am in the initial phase of W.O.I.D. release.

Release the WOID 1

Note my upright, curled tail position and the focused intensity in my face.  This is classically perfect form.  I am leaning slightly forward on my Fraunches, allowing for more flexibility and torque in my rear quadrants.  If Daddy Dog had not insisted on that ridiculous and heinously unflattering harness, I would have had the fireworks by the throat.

Here I am, approximately mid-release.

Release the W.O.I.D. 2

 

In this image, I am in a relaxed, yet alert and ready position.  My tail is still elevated, signaling my preparedness for the battle.  My haunches are flexed and in a widened stance, which gives me a powerful leaping ability.  Again, the wretched harness is clearly holding me back and diminishing my impact.

The wind began to blow quite hard shortly after the mid-point of the fireworks display and Daddy Dog declared that we would be stopping for the night.  But I was able to release the final vestiges of my W.O.I.D. before everyone dispersed.

This photograph captures me in meditation as I prepare myself for the recovery period.  This process is crucial to my mental and physical well-being.  Had I known Mama Dog was filming, I would have looked away, as it is a very private moment.  But I’m choosing to share it with you, dear readers, in the hopes that you can gain further understanding into the mind of the native Irish Dachshund.

After the WOID

As I said, the recovery period for a total and complete W.O.I.D. release is substantial.  I am still in partial convalescence, even though I am trying to keep up with my responsibilities both to my Companions and my human family.  My humans have been most understanding  over my need to take frequent and prolonged naps.  My Companions have not.

I have found the Family Bed in complete disarray on a daily basis, despite my attempts to keep them tidy.  Je m’appelle Claude, Plato-pus, and of course, Bachmann have been the biggest culprits in Family Bed disharmony over the past few weeks.  My plan is to rest enough over this weekend and begin intensive training with them next week.  I only hope it’s not too late.

Despite the delay in celebration, the utter exhaustion from the release, and the resulting chaos in the Family Bed, I am satisfied that this Independence Day will be remembered, as it should be.

Remember, dear friends, Independence is a right.  Swimming through water lines and causing breaks and leaks is not.  As always, thank you for your support.

 

 

Dachshund Chronicles:  Chapter 23

Dachshund Chronicles: Chapter 23

Harley settled more comfortably into the fluffy cushions of the sofa. Beside her, B.H. snuggled under his soft blanket. Gordy and Prescott bustled in to the room with bowls of fragrantly steaming popcorn and, placing the bowls on the square table in the center of the seating area, took their own seats in large faux-leather wing chairs. Harley pressed some buttons on the remote control and the large, flat-screen television flared to life.

“I love movie night,” Harley declared as she popped several kernels of popcorn into her snout. “I’m really glad we recorded the Mary Lou Retton gymnastics special so we could watch it together, as a family.” She crunched noisily and Prescott slanted a narrow gaze at her.

The whole family was wearing Mary Lou Retton themed apparel. Gordy and Prescott each wore an exact replica of the 1984 Olympic women’s gymnastics team track suit/cover up, in a much enlarged size. B.H. still wore his oversized MLR t-shirt, but had added a tiny trucker hat with the slogan “Are U Retton It?” across the front. Harley had many articles of Retton-inspired clothing to choose from but for tonight’s viewing she had chosen a leotard in the same style and pattern as Miss Retton had worn during her historic and gold medal winning performance. As a Mary Lou Retton purist, she was loathe to make any changes to the outfit. But for practicality and comfort’s sake, she had given in and added a snap-closure at the crotch and a small hole for her tail to poke through.

Harley fidgeted with the leg holes of the leotard. “I want to look authentic,” she complained to B.H., “but I’m telling you – this thing is constantly wanting to crawl up my butt. I wonder if Mary Lou used some kind of glue or tape to keep her leotard from giving her a wedgie?”

B.H. shrugged before scrambling to the popcorn bowl and digging out a few of the buttery puffs. He had just settled back into the nest he’d made in the blanket when Harley pointed the remote at the TV.

“Here we go!” she shouted excitedly. And everyone’s attention focused on the screen.

About forty minutes into the program, the images of Mary Lou Retton and gymnastics routines abruptly disappeared and the screen projected a picture of Roper Lee’s face. His large snout seemed to poke itself into the room. The image smiled toothily.

“Is this on?” the giant snout asked. “I mean, can they see me?” The face turned to look at something off screen. “Well, I know it’s going to be live … Oh – you mean it’s live now? So they can see and hear me? Okay. Good. Let’s get started.”

Harley bolted up from her relaxed position. “What the heck?” she cried. “Where is this coming from?? Where’s Mary Lou??” She frantically pushed buttons on the clicker but every channel showed the same thing.

“Citizens of the Under Dome,” Roper began. “And all its territories. Tonight I am coming to you live from an undisclosed location with a very special announcement.”

Prescott snuffled loudly.

“I know!” Harley yelled. “I’m trying to get the show back. How’s he even doing this?” she snarled. “That gymnastics program was on my DVR – he can’t interrupt a show I’m playing back!” She continued to click and point without success.

“I’m sure many of you may be wondering how I’m able to broadcast this live over any pre-recorded programming or dvd’s you may be watching,” he said conversationally.

Harley wanted to throw something at the television.

“Well,” Roper said eagerly, “I don’t really know all the technical mumbo gumbo. But I can tell you that’s it’s a pretty exciting new invention that my – I mean, our – top notch Under Dome scientists have come up with. And,” he paused to sip from a glass that appeared in his paws from off camera, “it means that I will be able to interrupt your television viewing with my important announcements any time I want! Hee hee! Isn’t that neat?” he tittered.

Prescott and Gordy snuffled. Harley growled. B.H. shook his small fist angrily at the screen.

As if sensing their hostility through the TV, Roper’s expression changed and he looked scared. “So. Anyway,” he sipped his drink again and glanced off screen. “Um, I guess you’re all probably really wondering what the announcement is, right?” he said awkwardly. “Sooo, I should probably tell you,” he looked off screen again, then back to the viewing audience. He was beginning to look panicked.

“He’s really going to get it!” Harley fumed. “First he schedules a stupid parade at the same time our program is supposed to be on. Then he causes a riot in the streets and makes us miss our supper reservation at the Southside Cafe. Then he interrupts our replay of the program he made us miss in the first place. And now he can’t even remember why he interrupted!” She threw her paws in the air in exasperation. “I’m going to kill him!”

She flopped back in her seat and then tugged at the leg of her leotard. “And now my stupid leotard is trying to floss my butt!” she ranted. “This is all Roper’s fault.”

B.H. patted her paw with his smaller one and offered her a piece of popcorn he had just found in the folds of his blanket.

“Thanks, B.H.,” she muttered, cramming the corn into her snout.

Roper could be seen and heard from the television just then, clearing his throat loudly. They turned their attention back to the screen just in time to see a stack of disembodied note cards floating at the side of Roper’s head. He caught sight of them through the corner of his eye and was visibly startled. He swatted at the cards briefly before another voice could be heard from somewhere off camera. “Take the cards, Sir.”

“Oh, well, yes, of course,” Roper stammered, trying to recover his composure. He snatched the cards and glanced down at them.

“As I was saying,” he said. “I have a very special announcement to make.” He shuffled the cards nervously. “As many of you know, there was a bit more excitement than usual at this afternoon’s parade.” He glanced down at his notes, then off camera, then back to the camera. “I am referring, of course, to the Beaver Military Escort that we were fortunate enough …” he trailed off and look around, confused, as a loud “No, Sir!” could be heard in the background.

“I don’t mean the Beaver Military Escort?” he asked, puzzled. “But it says right here, “Beaver Military Escort – see?” He turned from the camera completely and appeared to be showing the note cards to an unseen someone. “Of course I can read your handwriting – it says very clearly Beaver Military … well what is it, then? Oh, Maternity – so it’s a Beaver Maternity Escort? No? It’s a what? Oh. Okay.”

He turned back to the camera. “I am referring, of course, to the blessed maternity event that we were fortunate to witness this afternoon in my Very Important Roper and Harry Box.” He glanced off screen and winked.

“I am very proud and excited to announce that my darling Fluffy, my Treasure Pup, my one and only log – I mean love – has given me four more children today. They’re pretty gross looking – I mean they’re all hairless and squirmy … just really unattractive, generally …” He made an expression of disgust and shivered. “But she tells me they’re mine and so I guess they are. There are two girls and two boys,” he leaned forward and whispered, “although I don’t see how you can tell the difference. I mean, they don’t have big boys like me and they all look exactly the same, which is icky.” He straightened up and continued in his normal tone. “We have decided to name them as follows …”

He looked around and saw the pair of reading glasses waving off to his right. Taking them and slipping them onto his snout, he looked down at the note card in his paws. “We have named them Prince of the Realm BoJack Blackburn; Princess of the Realm Rio Carolina; Prince of the Realm Niles Alistaire; and Princess of the Realm Winn Dixie.” He looked up and blinked. Then he spoke to someone off camera. “Really? That’s what we named them? Those are horrible names. I mean, where’s the flair? Where’s the flash? This is what happens when I let Fluffy pick the names. Remember when she wanted to name the twins Donny and Marie? And I said those were too plain and she hit me with a newspaper? But in the end, I got to name them and I think ‘Griff Alouicious Fauntleroy Lee’ and ‘Taffy Gleaming Star Lee’ are much more impressive sounding than ‘Donny’ and ‘Marie’. What? Oh, right.” He turned back to the camera. “So. There you have it. I have four more kids and Fluffy says we can’t sell them. Have a nice evening.”

And with that, Roper was gone and the screen changed to the Great Seal of the Under Dome and All Its Territories.

“That was weird,” was all Harley said as she pointed the remote at the TV and turned the Mary Lou Retton program back on. “Now let’s watch something really important.”

An Independence Day Little Known Fact

An Independence Day Little Known Fact

Happy Independence Day. Or as we Irish Dachshunds call it, Tim Murphy Day. For surely this Irish frontiersman, this colonial sharpshooter, this ragged rebel serving under Daniel Morgan has done a service as integral to secure the birth of this Great Nation as any Founding Father.

Tim Murphy fearlessly and without hesitation fired a fatal shot into British General Simon Frasier, thus ensuring a turning point to the favor of the Patriot movement during the American Revolution.  Without Mr. Murphy, there would likely not even be an America.

However you like to celebrate the 4th of July, be it with fireworks or barbecue (or both, as I do), remember Ireland’s enduring contribution to your freedom.  Raise your perfectly built stout to Tim Murphy and know that without him, you’d all still be wearing powdered wigs in court and calling cookies ‘biscuits’.   (Which is ironic because I call my biscuits ‘cookies’, but they’re actually biscuits and I’m not even a little bit English.)

On a personal note, I will be releasing my W.O.I.D. (Wrath of Irish Dachsund) at my family’s annual fireworks celebration on Saturday evening.  I anticipate it being an even bigger display of my power and wisdom than ever before.  I will endeavor to take pictures of the event, but Mama Dog is quite protective of her expensive camera equipment and also very selfish.  At least she is ever since Bachmann crawled into her camera case and took her 80 mm lens, which he then proceeded to mount on his river boat as a makeshift periscope.  That was during his last camping trip on the Little Nokasippi.  Mama Dog was not happy about that, especially when he brought the boat back but not the lens.  He claimed that he’d been boarded by a rogue band of beaver pirates and the lens was stolen.  But what I suspect happened was that he’s a terrible sailor, he got into trouble on the river and lost the lens overboard during rough weather or sold it to make bail.  It’s about 50/50 for either scenario with that beaver.  Anyway, the point is that unless Mama Dog takes photos of me during my performance, there may not be any photographic evidence of my greatness.

So.  God Bless America and God Bless Ireland.  And thank you for your support.

 

Anatomy of an Irish Viking Dachshund

Anatomy of an Irish Viking Dachshund

While scientists have long been aware of their unique anatomy, little is actually known about the function and specifics of the Irish-Viking Dachshund’s particularities.  It has been ascertained, through countless hours of research and study, that these elusive animals do possess a structural makeup unlike any other breed.  While the “Haunch” and “Flank” are quite common pieces of canine form, the Irish-Viking Dachshund has other features which make it a fascinating case study.  These include the “Bank” or back flank area; the “Fraunch” or front haunch; the “Frit” or pit of the fraunch; and, most importantly, the “Honk” or haunch/flank concurrence.  Let us explore further …

This Irish-Viking Dachshund was captured in the wild and domesticated. While known primarily for their beards, Irish-Viking Dachshunds are also widely recognized for their extreme susceptibility to sunlight. In this photo, the subject was found unawares – basking and oblivious to our study. Notice that the Haunch, Flank and Bank are positioned so as to be excellent solar receivers. They are crucial to the Irish-Viking Dachshund’s survival in un-plush environments. The primary function of both the Haunch & Fraunch is flexing when stretching or being munchy when adored. The Frit & the Honk facilitate these activities. The Flank & Bank are known for their extreme reflective qualities, as shown in this diagram – notice how they gleam in the laser-like sun. The noble Irish-Viking Dachshund is an enigmatic creature, indeed. We were extremely fortunate to be able to document this amazing life-form for posterity.