Life With Max Update: The Dog Bed Part 2

Late last year I babysat my friend's dog Max for three weeks. You can read about his adventures at my house here.

A couple weeks ago I posted this photo of Max, a medium-sized dog we believe is a boxer/pitt pull mix, trying to fit in his little sister's comically undersized bed. 

Rosie, by the way, is a tiny dachshund. This bed is the perfect size for her. Not so much for Max, who insists on trying to squeeze into it anyway.

Here are a couple of other shots of Max insisting on sleeping in this tiny bed. It's hard to get any sense of scale from these photos, but for reference, Rosie's bed is probably about fifteen inches across. Maybe the size of a large pizza.

I don't know what's up with Max's face here. His wide-eyed expression makes it look like he's thinking, "I've made a huge mistake."

Here's a final shot of Max not fitting in the bed. He's pretty good at the sad eye thing.

Before anyone calls PETA on my friend, no one's forcing Max to sleep in a bed that's five sizes too small for him. He has a comfortable and spacious bed of his own downstairs. I guess he doesn't realize just how big he is, and thinks he can fit into Rosie's bed.

Dogs!

Life With Max Update: The Dog Bed

Late last year I babysat my friend's dog Max for three weeks. You can read about his adventures at my house here.

Max is back at his own house now. Here's a shot of him sitting in his little sister Rosie's tiny bed.

There's not much around him for scale in that photo, so you really can't tell just how big he is. Rosie's bed is probably fifteen inches or so across. About the size of a medium pizza. Max is probably two and a half feet long. Somehow he squeezed and contorted himself until he fit into that bed.

I guess cats aren't the only ones who think, "If I fits, I sits."

For the record, here's Max's sister Rosie. Yes, that's a dachshund wearing pajamas. She's not the least bit spoiled.

And here's Rosie draping herself across Max. Fortunately they get along pretty well.

Life With Max Update: Max Vs The Rawhide Bone

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks while he's out of town (you can read all about it in the first entry here). We're in the home stretch now, as his time with me is coming to an end.

So how's Life With Max working out? So far so good! He hasn't had any accidents yet or torn up anything valuable (knock wood), and he's been reasonably well behaved, considering his orderly little world's been turned upside down.

Max is a very active dog, and as such is easily bored. This can lead to trouble if he doesn't have something to constantly occupy him. It's impossible to keep an eye on him every second of the day, so you have to provide him with some kind of safe, non-destructive distraction.

That's where his rawhide bones come in, and thank Thor for them. Every second he's chewing on that bone is a second he's not tearing up the house. As long as I could hear him chomping on his bone, I knew he wasn't destroying any appliances, furniture or high-priced collectibles.

Max can go through an entire bone in a day if he's determined. My friend's wife sent six of them over with him, and by the beginning of Week 3 Max was on the last one. That sent me into a panic as I searched all over town trying to find the same brand, lest he run out. 

It was important to get the exact same kind too, because off-label bones cause him to have diarrhea, which is something I definitely wanted to avoid if possible. Dogs!

Max knows what his bones are called. If I'd say, "Go get your bone!" he'd disappear into the other room and return with it in his mouth. Pretty smart!

Watching him crush those bones with his sharp teeth and powerful jaws made me realize just how strong he is for his size. He could really mess up a person if he decided to turn on them. I couldn't help but think how odd it was that I chose to let a potentially deadly animal live in my house with me.

Fortunately Max is a very friendly and affectionate dog. I'm not sure you could even make him bite you. 

He loves kids too. On one of our nightly walks, I saw a group of kids, probably all around eight or nine years old, playing in front of their house. I knew if Max spotted them, I'd never be able to hold him back. 

Sure enough, he saw 'em and started after them. The kids saw him and were terrified, thinking he was trying to attack them. I don't blame them, as it really did look like he was trying to kill them. I assured them he wouldn't bite and was just wanted to see them. Finally one of the kids tentatively held out his hand and Max immediately started licking him and wagging his tail. The kids all then started petting him and cooing at him, pleasing Max no end.

In fact, Max was friendly and affectionate with everyone he encountered the entire three weeks I had him, except for one person— my next door neighbor. I could write fifty thousand words about these people, but suffice it to say they're idiots and I don't like them. 

I was sitting on the porch with Max enjoying our ridiculously warm November weather, when my neighbor stuck her head out her door to grab her mail. Max immediately started barking and growling, and it was all I could do to hold onto his leash. I've never seen him react like that to anyone. Good boy! Scare those idiots back into their house!

See? It's not just me. Even dogs know my neighbors are jerks!

Life With Max Update: Max Vs The Leash

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks while he's out of town (you can read all about it in the first entry here). We're in the home stretch now, as his time with me is coming to an end.

So how's Life With Max working out? So far so good! He hasn't had any accidents yet or torn up anything valuable (knock wood), and he's been reasonably well behaved, considering his orderly little world's been turned upside down.

When I first brought Max home, he was really wired and energetic, running back and forth through the house as his little dog mind struggled to figure out where the hell he was. I decided to take him for a walk to try and wear him out a bit. It worked— we walked to the end of my street and back, which is about a six block round trip. Once we got back he flopped down and rested, and was much calmer the rest of the night.

After about a week we started venturing farther, walking a little over a mile. I wasn't sure Max could make it that far, and figured I'd end up carrying him back. But he made it and still had energy to spare. 

I've been taking Max for his mile walk every night now, and he absolutely loves it. In fact he can't wait to go. As soon as we're done eating dinner, he starts getting all antsy and sticks his nose in my face and whines, letting me know he knows it's walkin' time. When I start putting my shoes on, he really goes crazy, as he no doubt thinks, "Hooray, the new human's putting the things on its feet! That means it's taking me walking!"

He heels fairly well when we're walking. I have to remember he's only two, so he's still learning. He does OK unless he sees a rabbit or a squirrel or a cat or another dog or a person or a deadly paper bag blowing down the sidewalk or a suspicious oil spot in the road or a leaf on the ground. Then you'd better brace your arm socket, because he will take you for a low altitude flight.

An active dog like Max really needs regular exercise. I have a feeling my friend probably doesn't walk him a mile every night like I do. He's going to kill me when he takes Max back home, and he starts jumping and whining every night at precisely 7pm, expecting to be taken for a walk. Insert evil laugh here.

Life With Max Update: Max Vs The Bathroom

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks while he's out of town (you can read all about it in the first entry here).

So how's Life With Max working out? So far so good! He hasn't had any accidents yet or torn up anything valuable (knock wood), and he's been reasonably well behaved, considering his orderly little world's been turned upside down and he has no idea what's happened or where he is.

So far Max refuses to let me out of his sight. Any time I leave the room, he trots along right beside me, watching my every step. My theory is since his owner and everyone he knows suddenly disappeared from his life, he's going to make sure I don't unexpectedly vanish as well.

This attention includes the bathroom too. So far, every time I need to... um... sit in there for a while, this is what I see. A little visitor who's intently interested in what I'm doing in there. He won't come all the way in though— he just stands in the doorway and stares at me the whole time I'm going about my business. 

I can't close the door, because then he starts whining and scratching at it. So... I now have an audience watching me perform in the bathroom. Ta-DAAAA!!!!

I guess it's only fair. When I take Max out to pee, I stand on the back deck and watch him do his business, so I guess he figures he's entitled to watch me do mine. 

Life With Max Update: Max Vs Hugo, Man Of A Thousand Faces

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks while he's out of town (you can read all about it in the first entry here).

So how's Life With Max working out? So far so good! He hasn't had any accidents yet or torn up anything valuable (knock wood), and he's been reasonably well behaved, considering his orderly little world's been turned upside down and he has no idea what's happened or where he is.

Last night I was typing away at the computer and noticed Max kept staring intently at something behind me. He was so mesmerized by whatever was back there that I couldn't even break the spell by shouting his name. He started acting all wary and stiffy-legged, like he'd spotted a potential threat.

The only thing behind me was a bookcase full of books. What the heck would a dog find so interesting in that?

Ah, but on closer inspection I noticed this next to the bookcase. The stealthy figure of Hugo was hiding behind me, his little half body pressed flat against the case.

Yes, it's Hugo, Man Of A Thousand Faces! Hugo was a doll sold by the Kenner Toy Company back in 1975, and came with a variety of disguises, such as wigs, glasses, facial hair and scars. Kids could have minutes of fun altering Hugo's creepy, nondescript face with the various disguises.

By the way, that kid on the box deserves a good smack. Look at the smug look on that little bastard's face!

Apparently Max saw Hugo hiding next to the bookcase behind me and thought he was a real person!

So I did what anyone would do. I took Hugo down off the shelf and sat him on the floor to see what Max would do. He didn't disappoint.

Here's Max warily investigating the terrifying menace of a plastic doll.

I made a high pitched little squeal, and of course Max thought it came from Hugo, and reacted accordingly.

I think this is my favorite photo fo the encounter. Max is comically jerking backward in utter horror here, startled by the shocking actions of the completely immobile doll.

After the initial shock wears off, Max becomes curious.

He warily begins slinking into the room…

Occasionally shocked and startled by absolutely nothing…

And finally this is as close as he was willing to get to the scary intruder.

I'm happy to report that Hugo survived the encounter unscathed, and is back home up on the shelf. Max is still wary though, and continues to stare at him. Thank you, Max, for protecting me from the scary doll!

Life With Max Update: Max VS The Dentist

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks (you can read all about it in the first entry here). Here's a photo of Max sitting patiently with his hands folded, as if he has something important to tell me.

So how's Life With Max working out? So far so good! He hasn't had any accidents yet or torn up anything valuable (knock wood), and he's been very well behaved. 

There was a slight problem the first few days he was here, as Max makes a damned good alarm clock. For some reason he'd come into my bedroom at ever earlier hours each morning and lay his head on my bed and stare patiently at me until I woke up. First it was 6:30 AM, then the next few days it was 4AM! I have no idea why he did this, or what he wanted. He didn't have to go outside, and he had plenty of food and water. I don't know what was so special about the hour, but he'd do it every morning at precisely 4 AM. Maybe there was some sound in the house that occurred at that time each day and woke him. Or maybe he was bored, or decided he'd slept enough, I dunno. 

I do know that I hadn't slept enough at that hour, so I'd tell him to knock it off and go back to bed. Happily he seems to have stopped his nocturnal romps.

I mentioned before that Max's genetic makeup is somewhat vague and in question. As near as we can tell he's a boxer mixed with… something else. As a result, Max has a few… well, let's call them quirks.

One of those oddities is his fang. It doesn't happen all the time, but occasionally when he shuts his mouth, this weird snaggletooth gets hung up on his rubbery upper lip gasket and protrudes from his jaw. Much like a cartoon bulldog! Hey, maybe that's what his mystery half is— bulldog!

It's actually kind of cool, like he's trying to look like a tough guy. A tough guy who's afraid of plastic skeletons and barks at scary leafs. Maybe he's making his tough guy face to try and scare away the ghosts inhabiting my house?

Life With Max Update: Max VS The Screensaver

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks (read all about it here). 

Tonight I was watching a DVD, and Max was dozing on the floor beside the couch. When the movie was over I left the DVD player on, and after a few minutes the screensaver started up. It's a little floating blue cube that bounces back and forth across the TV screen.

Max immediately leapt up and stood in front of the screen, following the cube's every movement. Apparently it was the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

I turned the player off a second after I snapped this photo, because he looked like he was just about ready to lunge at the screen and try to catch the cube.

Dogs!

Life With Max

Welp, looks like I have a house guest here at Bob Canada's BlogWorld Headquaters. This knucklehead will be staying with me for the next three weeks. A friend of mine is going out of town for a while, so I agreed to babysit his dog Max while he's away.

I used to watch his dachshund Lucy for him now and then (before she sadly passed on), but she was an older dog who was very calm and no trouble whatsoever.

Max is a different story. He was an absolute nightmare the first year or so of his life. He was completely out of control, and every time I'd go to my friend's house I'd spend the entire time trying to fend off Max, who was constantly biting and scratching.

Then my friend got a second dog— coincidentally another dachshund— and Max immediately calmed down and became much more well-behaved. Maybe it was his new "little sister's" influence. Or maybe when he saw my friend bring home a new dog, he realized he could easily be replaced and decided he'd better shape up.

Whatever the reason, Max is finally tolerable, and I actually like being around him now.

Max is a shelter dog, and the workers there told my friend that he's "part Boston Terrier, part Shih Tzu." He most certainly is not! He doesn't look the least bit like either of those breeds, and is twice as big as they are. Maybe three times. I don't think a child can be three times bigger than its parents. Unless maybe your name's Yao Ming (GASP! Did you hear? Bob just compared Yao Ming to a dog!)

It's a well known fact that shelter workers lie about their dogs' parentage all the time. They do this because they know if dog has even a single drop of pit bull blood in it, the majority of the public won't want anything to do with it, and the poor mutt will spend the rest of its life in the shelter. 

As near as we can tell, Max is a boxer mixed with... something else. Most likely pit bull, but who knows?

Even though Max has improved quite a bit, I was hesitant to babysit him when my friend asked. Three weeks is a lonnnnnnng time. A long time. I suggested that before I made such a lengthy commitment, that I do a "trial run" with Max and watch him for just a weekend. So that's what I did. A few weeks before my friend's trip, I brought Max to my house for a couple of days. He did pretty well! He didn't knock over the TV or soil the carpet, so I agreed to watch him during the big trip.

So that's what's going on right now. I picked up Max on Friday evening (right after I voted early) and he's been staying in my house since. So far so good. 

I discovered that Max makes an excellent alarm clock. Saturday morning I woke up around 6:30 AM and saw him sitting patiently next to my bed, staring at me. I figured he needed to go out, so I dragged myself out of my nice warm bed and took him outside. There I was, standing bleary-eyed on the back deck at 6:30 in the morning, watching a dog take twenty minutes to find just the right spot to pee.

When he was finally done I flopped into bed and tried to go back to sleep for another few hours. Max had different ideas though. He farted in my bedroom, and the stench was so horrifying and persistent that I finally threw in the towel and just got up. At 6:45 on my day off. Touche, Max.

One thing Max has brought to my attention: apparently there must be a ton of ghosts in my house. He spent the entire first day standing in the doorways of various rooms, staring intently into them. He'd stand there for hours, his head snapping back and forth like he was watching something moving or listening to a conversation. It was a little unnerving.

Here he is guarding me from the ghosts in the kitchen. Note how alert he looks, as if he's really watching something out there. The kitchen's completely empty! There's no one in there! At least no one I can see!

I don't really believe Max is seeing ghosts in my house of course. There are 4, count 'em four noisy clocks in my kitchen, and I suspect he's hearing them ticking and trying to figure out what all the noise is. 

On the other hand, I know for absolute fact that someone has died inside the houses on either side of mine. It's entirely possible that someone died in this house as well, and I just don't know about it. Maybe Max can see 'em and I can't. If he starts suddenly performing tricks, as if being directed by an unseen trainer, then I'm getting outta here!

DogDog

If you're a child of the 1990s/2000s, you no doubt remember Nickelodeon's bizarre CatDog program.

Well, behold DogDog, the new ill-advised, fused life form from the twisted minds of the demented ex-Nazi scientists over at the One SmartBlend corporation. Twice the slobbery, lovable fun, with none of the unpleasant mess associated with a normal canine.

As Ian Malcolm would say, "Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should."

Spotted at my local Schnuck's grocery store.

What's Giving Christianity A Black Eye This Week?

The religious world is reeling this week over the news that the book The Boy Who Came Back From Heaven is not a true, firsthand account of a child visiting the afterlife, but is actually a work of fiction.

The book, co-written in 2010 by then six year old Alex Malarkey and his father, told the story of Alex's miraculous experience after being injured in a horrific car crash. Alex was left paralyzed and in a coma for two months. When he finally woke, he spun a fantastic tale of angels taking him through the gates of Heaven itself, where he met and talked with Jesus. According to young Alex, the afterlife is filled with zero calorie ranch dressing rivers, blankets with sleeves and chimps who wear vests and won't bite off your face (OK, I made up that last part myself).

Alex, now sixteen, recanted his claims this week, stating, "I did not die. I did not go to Heaven. I said I went to Heaven because I thought it would get me attention."

Christian bookstores across the country, stunned and demoralized, immediately pulled the book from their shelves after hearing the shocking admission.

I don't blame Alex for lying-- that's what kids do. They lie. All day, every day. He was just doing what came naturally to him. No, my scorn is instead reserved for his father, who saw a way to parlay his family's tragedy into a gold mine.

You'd think people would have been a little more skeptical of his claims based on his name alone. Malarkey? Are you fraking kidding me? Man, the jokes are writin' themselves today.

In light of this development, I'm keeping my eye on you too, kid. You and your poorly Photoshopped head.

And Burpo? Can you only pretend you went to Heaven if you have a bizarre last name?

______________________________________

Then in Florida (of course), the Pinellas County Sheriff's Department made headlines when they discovered that their new rugs, prominently emblazoned with their logo, actually said "In Dog We Trust" rather than the traditional "In God We Trust." The rugs were in place for two months before the error was noticed. Good eye, Sheriff!

American Floor Mats, who manufactured the rugs, has agreed to replace the faulty floor coverings. 

I'm wondering if this was a simple typo, or if someone at American Floor Mats is of the atheist faith. "In Dog We Trust" is often used by non-believers as a secular epithet. Methinks someone in the printing department was having a larf, wondering how long it'd take the faithful to notice. Apparently the answer is two months.

Git 'Er (URP) Done!

It's been brought to my attention that inexplicably popular comedian Larry The Cable Guy is currently hawking his own line of foods. The line consists mainly of various deep fry batter mixes and heavy pasta based meals.

Larry is also the spokesman for Prilosec heartburn medication.

Connection? I'll let you be the judge. If we weren't talking about, you know, Larry The Cable Guy, I'd say it's all part of some Machiavellian scheme.

Larry also has a line of "dawg" treats, for when you want to punish your pet.

Oh Waiter, There's A Dog In My Eye

My sister and her family got a new dog a few months ago. She's a Labradoodle (man, somebody really needs to do something about these new dog breed names) called Callie.

The last time I was at their house, no matter what direction I looked, this is the view I had for 80% of the visit:

 Apparently I wasn't paying sufficient attention to her.

Lucy Seifert 1997 - 2012

I am very saddened to report the death of Lucy the wiener dog.

Lucy was not my dog, she belonged to my pal KW Monster. Nevertheless I knew her for fifteen long years. I saw her every time I went to KW's house and I would occasionally babysit her in my home. In a way I felt like she was partly my dog. She was personable, playful, very intelligent and up for anything. Most of all she was a fun little furry pal.

"Hey Big-Head, I need to go outside, NOW."

I remember the first time I ever saw Lucy. I went to KW's house and sat down on his couch. Lucy came barreling into the room, heading right toward me. I chuckled to myself a bit, figuring there was no way a dog with such tiny legs would ever be able to jump up onto the couch with me. When she was about ten feet away she literally flew across the room and landed beside me on the couch, eager to see who I was and what was going on. Bear in mind that when I say she flew, that's exactly what I mean. Her stubby legs lifted from the ground and she sailed upward into the air like a missile. I was absolutely gobsmacked. Astonished even. I'd never seen anything like that before.

I used to babysit Lucy when KW would go out of town; often for two or three weeks at a time. She never made much of a fuss about it; she seemed to accept her new situation and environment without any trouble and quickly fell into the routine of my household. 

I always wondered what she thought of this arrangement. Did she just think that KW was at work for an exceptionally long time (three weeks!) and would eventually come back? I can't see how she could possibly know that. Did she think, "Well, I guess that other guy's gone and I live with this guy now?" Too bad we'll never know.

I remember the first time KW took a trip and was separated from Lucy for an extended period. She was apparently greatly offended by his absence and when he returned, she wouldn't "speak" to him for about a week. She wouldn't even look at him and when he'd try to pet her she'd pull away. It was exactly like watching a petulant child. She was most definitely punishing him for leaving her. After about a week she got over it and forgave him.

"Hulk smash! Ride War Steed into battle!"

Amazingly Lucy never bothered anything that didn't belong to her. KW would leave DVDs, books and shoes lying on the floor, as well as several expensive guitars resting on stands, all well within her reach. Lucy never once bothered any of that stuff. She had her own toys and never touched any of KW's. This discipline carried over to my house as well. In all the times I watched her she never bothered any of my stuff either. Her one weakness: the trash. Occasionally the siren's call of the trash can would overpower her and she'd knock it over and spread the contents all over KW's kitchen floor. But it didn't happen very often.

Lucy's main hobby over the years was licking her paws. Her delicious, succulent paws. She spent most of her waking time lying down and licking her front paws. It's a wonder she didn't lick them off. Her vet suggested it was an allergy, but I wonder if it was a habit, like a human constantly cracking their knuckles or clearing their throat.

Baby got back! Lucy during her "chunky" period.

Lucy was a very intelligent dog and I truly believe she had the ability to think. One day KW came home from work and noticed that the kitchen rug was lying out in the middle of the floor, instead of by the door as it should have been. He picked up the rug to move it and saw that there were a couple of Lucy's poops underneath. Apparently earlier in the day Lucy just couldn't hold it any longer and pooped on the floor. Panicked, she realized she'd done a Bad Thing and would be punished for it. So she walked over to the rug, grabbed it in her teeth and dragged it out to the middle of the floor and covered her poops with it. The perfect crime!

That right there showed me that she had the capacity for abstract thought. She was able to think ahead several hours and recognize that punishment would be forthcoming. She then formulated a plan to hide the evidence, thereby avoiding said punishment. That's chimp or toddler level thinking right there. By the way, KW was so impressed with her quick thinking that he didn't have the heart to punish her for pooping on the floor (that time).

Lucy could understand many words as well. Included in her vocabulary: she knew the difference between "bone" (her rawhide chew) and "ball," and would pick up whichever one you called out to her. She also understood the difference between "eat," "drink" and "get in your bed." And of course, "potty."

Lucy was broke when she first started out so she was forced to pose nude for Playmutt magazine.

Speaking of potty, the one thing I did not enjoy about watching Lucy: letting her out to poop and pee. KW would just let her out and go about his business inside while she went about hers outside. I never did that when I watched her as I was afraid she might run off. So I would stay outside and keep an eye on her while she went.

She would slowly and deliberately make her way around my backyard, sniffing the ground intently as she searched for just the Right Spot in which to relieve herself. Apparently in the world of dogs, this is a Big Deal. She'd sometimes wander around for ten to fifteen minutes before finding the optimum spot to take a crap. Once I sat out there for twenty interminable minutes waiting on her. I was pleading with her, saying, "Please Lucy, I'm begging you. POOP ALREADY so I can go to bed!" She sniffed around some more, stopped, sniffed more intently and then finally screwed herself up and got into the "position." "Thank Thor," I thought, near tears. Then at the last second she aborted the mission and started sniffing around again, to my groaning vexation.

I can't say for sure, but I have a sneaking suspicion that she was playing me; deliberately drawing out these poop sessions just to spend more time outside.

Whenever I babysat Lucy she would spend most of her time dozing (or licking her paws) at my feet while I sat at the computer and drew. She would follow me from room to room, unwilling to let me out of her site, lest I disappear as KW apparently had. A few years ago I painted my kitchen and she spent the whole weekend keeping me company, sitting in the doorway intently watching my every move.

Like most dogs, Lucy was terrified of the vacuum cleaner. I tried not to use it if she was around (I can go a lonnnnng time without vacuuming if I have to), but sometimes I had no choice. Whenever I would use it, afterward it'd take me a while to find her again. Usually I'd find her hiding way back under my bed, safe from the hideous shrieking vacuum demon.

Ever vigilant: Lucy protecting my porch from the dreaded squirrel menace.

Lucy was of course a dachshund and had the breed's characteristic elongated torso. When something spooked her and she took off running for her bed, hilariously her back end was faster than her front end. Her butt would actually overtake her front half until she was running virtually sideways. Made me laugh every time I saw it.

I liked to play the Security Game with her when she stayed at my house. KW trained Lucy to bark whenever he'd say the word "Security" and to stop when he'd say "Safe." So I would see how close I could get to the word "security" before she'd bark. I'd suddenly yell, "Seppepity!" and she'd give me the stink eye, no doubt wondering what the hell was wrong with me. "Segoogidy" didn't work either. But I lost the game when I'd yell "Seckity." Apparently that was too close to "security" and she started barking.

In recent months her age began to catch up with her and her hearing came and went and her vision began to fade. Because she was a dog, she didn't let these maladies get her down though. Unlike most dogs her age she was still playful well into her old age. She was even learning new tricks right up to the end. Just a few months ago she learned to sit up and beg, which is quite a feat for a dachshund.

I'm really going to miss babysitting her and hearing her paddling little feet follow me from room to room.