My life with my loyal dachshund, Fred

— Everyone who knows us remembers our mini-dachshund, Fred: Nine pounds of merriment and mischief who loved everyone he met. He was extremely loyal and loved to give “kisses.”

We had to have him put down two years ago this month shortly before his 17th birthday.

I still grieve until this day

While in Texas, we had a yard swing. I purchased a ghost to sit in it during the fall months, but it often blew to the ground. The next year I bought “He” and “She” scarecrows on stakes which, too, fell on their faces with any gust of wind. The following fall, I had an idea. I stuffed a pair of Freemon’s jeans and a denim shirt with wads of newspaper. I stuffed a pillow case, pinned it in back so it was round in shape and painted a face on it with a magic marker. I stuffed this ‘head’ inside the shirt’s collar. I placed a straw hat on its crown, put Freemon’s old gum boots on his ‘feet and stuffed gloves for his ‘hands. I leaned a yard rake next to him as he leaned back on one arm of the swing and propped his feet up on the other end. I named him Homer Hitherwad and told the neighbors he’d wandered up from the river at the bottom of our bluff and asked for work. So far, I found him to be extremely lazy. They smiled, and we all got a big kick at how many people waved to him as they passed by.

One afternoon the clouds began to darken and we could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. Freemon planned to grill chops for supper downstairs and I told him we’d better hurry before the storm started. Smelling the charcoal, Fred knew something good was about to happen to his palate and followed our every step. He sat patiently beside the grill, watching. I remembered Homer. I didn’t want him to get soaked or have his face “run,” so I gathered him up—hat, boots and all—and placed him in a plastic lawn chair on the dry side of our cars.

Chops were beginning to smell wonderful when I looked around for Fred. I called him but he didn’t come. Freemon went up for a platter and when he came back downstairs, he was laughing. He nodded for me to look behind me. There Fred sat all curled up in Homer’s lap and was actually licking his “chin.”

After returning from vacation one year, we picked Fred up at the kennels and were told an attendant thought she’d seen a trace of blood in his outside run. The doctor handed me a small capped jar and asked that I bring in a urine sample the following morning so it could be checked for an infection. I looked at the vet. I looked at the jar. I looked at Fred. Have you EVER tried to get a urine sample from a dog? A nine lb. dog-and-a half long and half-a-dog high atop two inch legs???? If you haven’t, I’d say it is somewhat akin to milking a turtle.

Thursday morning I took him out of bed and set him on the floor. I started down the hall, coaxing, “C’mon, Freddy-Boy, let’s go potty.” I hid the jar inside my sleeve as if he’d have the slightest idea what it was. I followed him step for step to his tree while he kept looking back and wondering why I didn’t remain on the porch. He circled the tree twice before lifting a leg. As I rushed in to position the jar, he jumped. Leg went down. I led him to three or four of his other favorite spots and his reaction was the same each time. Finally, I became tired and knew he was exhausted. I said, “Okay, let’s go home.” He promptly relieved himself on the door mat before I could let him inside

I lightly salted his breakfast and fed him potato chips afterward. I was thinking and planning during this time. I fetched an old broom and asked Freemon to cut off the brush part while I went for duct tape and a small plastic measuring cup. Now, you’re surely ahead of me at this point…I duct taped the handle of the measuring cup to the end of the broom handle. Sufficiently prepared now, I was ready. I anxiously waited until I heard his bark at the front door. Going to open it, I let him sniff the broom handle part I held in my hand and he was satisfied as he rushed to his tree. I stood way back until he lifted one leg. Alas, as soon as I got the jar close enough, he jumped back and went to another spot. Same thing. He went to the corner bush finally and this time I waited for his third leg-lift and waited for him to begin before rushing in with the container positioned just right. I got about 5 or 6 drops which I figured would be enough. I carried it to the vet immediately and two days later we got word it was “clear.” All that work! But…whattaya’ think? Reckon I should listen more carefully to that George Foreman commercial about INVENTHELP and try to patent this contraption?

(Brenda Miles is an award winning columnist and author living in Hot Springs Village. She responds to all e-mail at [email protected].)

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