Happy Halloweenie

Well, we finally did it. After all these years, we have a hot dog Halloween costume for our dogs. To our credit, we didn't buy it. It was loaned to us. Let's take a look.

Those are not happy puppies. At least Couper decided, "This stinks, but I think I can kinda still play". Godiva was miserable. Frankie decided to use it as a cushion, I think.

Every so often there are videos shared to us on Facebook of dachshunds dressed up and running around. Usually they are from the great Crusoe the Celebrity Dachshund. This is one we got often:

We love this one, because we love dachshunds (obviously) and the Minions. It is awesome. People should always share stuff like this with us. But the poster will say, "you should do this with your dogs". And then we get sad, because we know that in our wildest dreams there is no way that our dogs are going to act anything like the dogs on the video. They are going to fight getting the costume put on them and then sulk as if we took all their toys and yummies away. That first picture of Godiva could actually be a video. It took her three minutes to even move. Just stare at it for three minutes and pretend it's on YouTube.

So, once a year, at best, we spend 15 minutes dressing them up for a photo-op that we can use on the October page of our puppy calendar and call it a day. Halloween is the worst day of the year for puppies. Even Halloweenie puppies.

Frankie Doodle Turns 13!

We're late for Frankie's birthday, so we might as well combine that with being late for the Fourth of July. So happy 13th birthday Frankie! And happy 239th birthday America!

I saw this comic and immediately thought of Frankie:

We've had Frankie two years, what are we calling him these days?

Frankie/Frank: Yes, we still call him by his name. That proves the intersection into the Pet's Name circle.

Frankie Dog: Not sure why, but we feel the need to append what kind of creature he is to his name. It isn't like we also have a Frankie Cat, or a Frankie Turtle, or even an Uncle Frankie.

Franklin: We've decided that this is his proper name. I'm guessing the original intent was that Frankie was short for Frankfurter. I like Franklin. Sounds Presidential. I think it's going to make a comeback. To combine this with the last entry, his full name is Franklin T Puppy Dog. The T stands for "The". 

Frankie Doodle: Makes sense as a derivative of Yankee Doodle. But make more sense when we have a Godiva Doo(dle) and a Couper Doo(dle). Makes them a family of sorts. The Doodle family, but a family nonetheless.

Frank the Tank: This is the name he came into our house with, but we are retiring it. At his last vet visit, he weighed in at 14+ pounds, down from 25.8 when we first got him. We actually think we may need to beef him up a little, which is more than OK with him.

Jumpin' Jack Flash: Because of how he jumps when his breakfast/dinner is ready...as if he could reach the counter and grab it. Someday. This is also a way better Stones song name for him than "Ruby Tuesday" or "Sister Morphine". 

So, we are pretty much on track with the chart. More of his real name than they show, but nothing incoherent.

What about Couper and Godiva? They are definitely in the fourth year onward graph. We did this exercise with them previously, but what's new?

Couper:

Coupee (Koo-pee): Sort of the in-between of Coupe and Couper. But a lot more fun to say. Especially when you make it Coupeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! On the graph this is kind of a combination of the inner circle and the outer circle. Not sure how to diagram that.

Godiva:

Diva: Not dee-va, which is what she is and often deserves to be called. But Dive-a as in Godiva without the Go (Guh). I catch my self saying that and wonder, how lazy have I gotten that I can't add the Go? Worse, I have caught my self calling her Dive. Not sure if that is lazy for Diva, or for DiverDoo. I really don't like when I call her Dive. Stop that me. Don't make Dive a line item the next time I do this. Anyhow, Dive-a is not a word and definitely on the outside lane of the diagram.

Back to the main point, to honor Frankie's birthday, here is one of my favorite pictures ever, a rare action shot of Frankie playing. If you squint really hard, you can even imagine him playing with the ball (though in reality, he was chasing Godiva, or more likely sprinting to the door for post-potty yummies).

Happy 13th Frankie!!!

Rampway to Heaven

As noted earlier in this space, Godiva's first warning sign that she was having back issues in 2012 was that she would not climb the stairs leading to either the bed or the sofa. She would sit at the bottom of the stairs and cry. As a result, we would either have to lift her onto the bed/sofa or help her up the stairs. She had her surgery in October 2012, so estimating a few weeks backwards (we weren't the swiftest to pick up on her actual condition, we thought it was fear of the stairs or of Couper waiting on the bed/sofa), let's say this started the beginning of September 2012.

After surgery, we had to rehabilitate her. A few weeks of sleeping in the kennel were followed by us lifting her onto the bed and sometimes the sofa (though I spent a lot of time massaging her on the floor in the living room).

Eventually she got to the point where she could walk, but her rear left leg really never came all the way back. If her four legs were the Beatles, the front legs would be John and Paul, the back right would be George, and the back left Ringo. Happy to be there, contributes here and there, but mostly along for the ride (and looks a little drunk - sorry Ringo).

Overall, she got most of her functionality back. She could walk (though never a day goes by that her walking does not remind us that she had surgery), and run after lizards, and squat to go potty. However, she could not jump (fine by us), or scratch her left ear (I think the #1 function she wants back), or climb stairs.

We thought at first not climbing stair was just being spoiled. Maybe she liked the attention of crying and then being lifted up. So, we decided that we would only help her up the stairs, not lift her. We thought that would also help her confidence. It didn't. She still would cry at the bottom of the stairs.

As annoying as it was, it may have been tolerable if we could just help her up and that was that. The issue was that she had no problem jumping off the bed (though we had a step class platform with a dog bed on it that she used as a halfway point, she wasn't completely diving all the way to the floor). So the drill became, cry, get helped up, jump down, cry get helped up, jump down...repeat...repeat...repeat.

And that went on for about six months. Finally we came to the conclusion that she was never going to climb the stairs again and that there had to be a better way.

So I checked the internet for ramps. It's not like we are ever going to be featured in Architectural Digest, but you do want something that looks somewhat decent in your bedroom or living room, not some brown blob molded out of plastic. There were a lot of Google results for dog ramps. The problem was that most were for ramps to vehicles. I wouldn't have guessed that since in no way were we ever going to let our dogs just hop in the car and have full access to wherever they wanted to go in there. We kennel them whenever they are in the car. I was sure that was a good idea until I saw all the vehicle ramps. Now I just think it is a good idea.

There were a few indoor ramps. Some expensive wood ones with lots of choices, none of which were exactly what we needed. Some cheaper plastic ones that didn't fit the aesthetics and seemed a bit steep for Godiva. And a couple of offbeat ones, like the one that was a big sloped and sectioned cushion. There is an old saying "Paralysis by Analysis". That was the perfect description of our ramp project in Spring of 2013.

Then I got a grand idea. What if I built a ramp? I know I haven't as much as sanded wood since Middle School shop class, but how hard could it really be? I could buy wood at Home Depot. And given blueprints that I could create via super simple free programs or via the internet, maybe they could cut the wood to those exact specs with their super sophisticated saw thingies. And either Home Depot or YouTube or some incredibly user friendly blog could show me how to fasten those precisely cut pieces of wood into a well-built, three dimensional, safe and secure ramp.  Not to mention, I could burn a few calories, stay busy with all my free-time, and learn to be handy. And when I was done with the ramp and brimming with new found skills and knowledge I could finally fix the patio roof and build a screened in addition to the house off the kitchen. Then maybe I could quit my job and become that guy with the sledge hammer in all the HGTV shows ("Bad news Jim, this is a load bearing wall"). Finally, maybe I could flap my arms and fly to the moon.

Excited by my new found confidence, I sheepishly brought it up to Godiva's Mommy:

Big Buddy: I was thinking. Know how we have been talking about getting Godiva a ramp for the bed? Well, I was thinking, maybe I could, you know, make some specs and go down to Home Depot and they would help me get some materials and then I could put it together. I think it would be a lot cheaper than...

Godiva's Mommy: Wait, what? You would make the ramp?

Big Buddy: Well, Yeah, I guess so. Uh, you're right, probably not.

And as humiliating as that was, it surely saved me a bunch of hours, probably a finger or two, and a ton of cursing. Let's face it, I'm never going to become the guy with the sledge hammer (though it is probably the one tool I could use).

So, back to the internet I went. Suddenly the wood ramps didn't seem so expensive.

But they were not exactly what I wanted. The best choice was the appropriately named Doxie-Ramps. The problem was that their tallest ramp was too high for the bed and sofa, and their next tallest was a bit short for both. Would Godiva be able to step up to the bed/sofa on the smaller, or navigate the steeper slope of the taller? Another two weeks of analysis paralysis. We finally decided on the smaller height with less slope an a bit of a step up to the bed sofa. They had an option for a small side railing for $35. Small as it was, we figured anything that might give Godiva confidence was worth a shot. So, we ordered our $185 ramp and hoped.

Our main worry was would or could Godiva use it. Was it too steep for her to physically be able to use? Was she too used to having her people carry her up to the bed/sofa to even want to use a ramp? Given a $185 investment, these were not insignificant questions. If nothing else, we figured Couper and Frankie would use it, and of course we hoped they would too. But we really wanted to rid ourselves of Godiva crying to get on beds and sofas. If we still had that problem, we really didn't accomplish much.

Between our order and receiving our ramp, one of Godiva's Mommy's co-workers gave us a vehicle ramp. It was a fantastic gesture, though we would never use it with a vehicle and it was not practical for a bed or sofa. However, we could use it to see if Godiva would (or could) go up and down a ramp. So, we set up the ramp to nowhere. We set it on the patio up to a garden layer about 5 bricks above the ground. To get her to go up, we put some yummies every foot or so on the ramp. Ever the adventurer, Couper took the bait and the yummies and scaled right up. Hungry as he always seems to be, Frankie did the same. Godiva was a bit more tentative. We locked the boys inside and gave her another shot. She went up and down very slowly. It was not a great confidence booster.

In time the ramp was delivered. I guess it isn't an overnight project even for professionals. It was really nice. All I had to do was put the side rail on using pre-drilled holes and provided nails. I could handle that. So, I took it into our den, where I was working that day, and put it up against the sofa in there that she used to love jumping up on.

First up? Couper of course. He walked right up the ramp and over to the sofa. Great start. Then he jumped right off the sofa to the floor. Uh oh. We hadn't exactly planned for that.

Godiva, as with most new things, was a little scared. So, I cleared the boys away, got a duck yummy, and led her up the ramp. She was a little hesitant, but she made it. Then, learning from Couper, I got another duck yummy and led her back down the ramp. We did another cycle of this and then I went back to working. At some point, I left the room. I know she was down, because she initially followed me. When I got back to the den, there she was back up on the sofa. Winner!

So, she was comfortably lounging on her favorite sofa once again when she heard the garage door. It was Godiva's Mommy coming home! So right off the sofa she leapt. No time for a ramp when she needs to get to the door. All that training (well, the one or two up and downs with yummies we did) out the window.

With Godiva's Mommy home, it was time to move the ramp to the bedroom and try going up to the bed. This was the big one. This was for peaceful sleep in our time. The bed was a couple of inches higher than the ramp. We set the top of the ramp to be on my side as I am the lighter sleeper and would be more likely to get out of the way. We got a couple of yummies, cleared the boys out, hopped on the bed, and hoped. Up the ramp she came. She got to the top, assessed the two inch step to the bed on her right, decided that yes, she wanted to get on the bed, and hopped right on. Thank God!

She hadn't been on the bed for five seconds before the thought hit me:

This is a high quality ramp. It is made of real wood and is long enough so as not be overly steep. It is a bit of a pain from both a weight and a size standpoint to carry from one room to the next. Godiva, even hobbled, moves faster than we can carry a ramp. We need another ramp. One for the bedroom and one for the living room. Hell, maybe even another for the den.

We settled for one more that we would shuttle between the living room sofa and the den sofa as needed. It was ordered that weekend.

And in the end, it really worked. Godiva loves the ramps. No more crying at the foot of the bed. She has been great about going down the ramp too. Even in the excitement of her mommy coming home, she will scramble to find at least the middle of the ramp to go down.

So, it only took seven months to figure out. The sad thing is that we should have had these all along. We don't know how she got hurt, but these ramps would had to have taken some of the stress off her. So not only was it too bad that this was a long needed reactive measure, it is too bad we hadn't done this years before as a preventative one.



Notes:

• What about Couper and Frankie?
• Couper goes up the ramp to the bed. We basically took away all other means for him to get there. He used hop on a puppy bed on a step and then hop to the bed. We took that away. We took away the stairs that we had to the bed. He can jump on the bed from the floor, but it is just high enough to make that really difficult. We want him taking the ramp. Off the bed he usually jumps. No time for ramps when it is time to play. We've tried to coax him down the ramp, but it doesn't take. The best (and by best, I mean the worst...but it is cool) is when he jumps off the end of the bed, over the ramp, and to the floor. He will also, from the floor at the foot of the bed in the middle, jump over the little side rail onto the ramp, and then hop from the ramp to the bed. Again, amazing, but terrifying. As for the sofas, it is hit and miss. He jumps up and down from those where the sofa ramp isn't. He's the only one who can do that and he takes full advantage of the privacy he gets up there. Depends on his mood or how tired he is using the ramp on the sofa with the ramp.
• Frankie was the big unknown. We weren't sure if having a ramp to the bed meant that Frankie would suddenly become the third dog in the bed. Not that he wasn't welcome, but even though these aren't big dogs, you would be amazed at how much territory they can claim and some of the uncomfortable places they can find. Frankie likes the ramp as well. When I get home from work and collapse on the bed, Frankie will usually climb up for some cuddling; after all, that's where the belly and neck rubs are. But amazingly he has only come up at night twice. I guess he is happy having his own bed (and his mommy gives him his own blankee and tucks him in every night).
  

• Godiva's walking has gotten a little better. It may be that it has been two and a half years since her surgery. But we also think that walking up the ramp has strengthened her back legs, especially her back left. The doctors after her surgery wanted to have her walk up hills as part of her therapy. We never really did that. Again, everyday we see her walk, we are reminded that she had back surgery, but I really think her walking has gotten a little less clumsy in the past year and a half. Another argument for having gotten the ramp sooner.
• The sofa ramp is great for puppies. It is a pain in the ass for humans. We suddenly have two spots to get on the sofa, at the foot of the ramp, or at the end of the ramp. Compounding that problem, there are now puppies strewn all over potential landing spots on the sofa. We also have the problem that the ramp looks awfully fun for nephews under 5 years of age. We have to make clear that the ramp is for puppies and they are not puppies. That works for all of two minutes. At least they are light enough not to damage the ramp. Not so sure about that in a couple of years.

The Biggest Loser

Welcome back to the Biggest Loser.

Alison: Frankie, when you entered the Dachshund Ranch in April 2013, you weighed in at 25.6 pounds.

Alison: Before you take your turn on the scale, is there anything you would like to say?

Frankie: Woof woof woof woof WOOF! {I'm freakin' hungry!} Woof WOOF woof Woof WOOF!{These people, they are starving me!} WOOF WOOF woof Woof WOOF!?! {Would it kill them to give me more food!?!}

Alison: Well put Frankie. Frankie, please get on the scale.

Alison: Frankie, your current weight is...

[Beep] 28.2

[Beep] 18.8
[Beep] 22.5
[Beep] 13.7
[Beep] 26.8
[Beep] 20.9
[Beep] 15.2
[Beep] 39.4
[Beep] 5.0
[Beep] 56.7
[Beep] -6.8

[Beep] 17.6

Alison: Frankie, your current weight is 17.6 pounds, a percentage weight loss of 31.25%!

Alison: Frankie, how do you feel?

Frankie: Woof WOOF woof Woof WOOF WOOF! ?!{Hungry, I feel hungry, Alison. Did you not hear me before!?!} 

Alison: [Wipes away a tear] Touching. That is very inspirational Frankie. That's all for The Biggest Loser. Remember next week we have a big surprise, yes, we are once again bringing back Phil! Goodnight everybody!

We took Frankie to the vet in May, thirteen months after his first visit upon getting him last April. We really hate taking the dogs to the vet, and in Frankie's case we hate it more so because the vet had yelled at us about his teeth and we really didn't do anything about them (other than some last minute brushing, which had the same effect as cracking open your chemistry book for the first time the night before the final).

However, we were excited to see what his weight was. He was noticeably thinner (the pictures above do not do his weight loss justice - The Biggest Loser producers are losing their touch). Could we have weighed him at home? Sure, but that would mean getting on the scales ourselves and then back on with him. I won't speak for Frankie's Mommy, but that was something I wanted no part of.

So, right before going in we each guessed his weight. Frankie's Mommy said 17. I said 18.5. The numbers in the Biggest Loser skit were correct. 17.6 (oh crap, I lost). And, unlike Couper and Godiva, it was well measured, as Frankie actually stands still on the scale. We were so excited, we glossed right over getting yelled at once again about his teeth.

And maybe now it is time to give into Frankie's wishes and give him more food (just a little more). After all, this is Frankie as his dinner is being made:

Air Frankie

The biggest lesson learned: It is very easy to put someone else on a diet. Maybe it is Frankie's turn, as the Biggest Loser, to become the mentor and start making our food.

Happy 12th (?) Birthday (??) Frankie!!!

We would like to wish our newest family member Frankie a happy birthday!

Except that we don't really know when his birthday is. When we adopted him last April, we asked and essentially got a shrug. When we asked how old he was, we got an approximation. Old vet records that we got didn't help, so we made stuff up.

Back of the envelope math said that he was 11. We think that he is slightly older than Couper, who had turned 10 the October before. So, 11 it was.

As for the date, we think he was born before April in actuality. Frankie's New Mommy seems to recall seeing him during a Spring Break visit when he was a puppy. So really, he was likely born no later than January. But then you have to pick a random date in January, and nothing other than New Year's Day stands out (and that already is a holiday). Plus it could fall on an NFL Playoff day and that would confuse everything.

So, without anything actual to go on, we figured let's assign his adoption date as his birthday. Kind of his rebirth. That way we could celebrate the abstract with the concrete. So, April 14th it is. (Yes, I know today is not April 14th...that is my fault).

So, how is Frankie doing a year later? Well, he has lost a lot of weight. No longer does his tummy drag on the ground. He also has a good looking dog shape when looking from above. It is amazing how easy it is to put someone else on a diet! His coat is also better. We put a drop or two of olive oil in his food every night and it seems to have really helped.

With weight loss, he breathes better and snores less. He also moves better. He still doesn't play, but when he goes outside and poops, he will pounce back to the door to get his yummie. Which of course leads to his real exercise; whenever it is time for yummies or meals, he jumps up and down on his mat like it was a trampoline. If said yummie is not forthcoming, he woofs and lets you know about it. If his dinner is ready and we are doing something unnecessary, like say, making our dinner, he follows us around and lets us know about it. We grill a lot and he has figured out that when I come in with food, it is just about time for him to get his dinner. So when I go outside, he runs to the door to make sure I am bringing something in. When it is finally (!!!) time for him to get breakfast/dinner, he jumps up and down like a jumping bean again. Because he is puppy #3, he gets his dish last, which means while we are bending down do put Couper's and Godiva's on the floor, he is practically knocking us in the butt. His enthusiasm doesn't stop there. At first we bought him a regular bowl like Couper and Godiva were using. However, he would eat his dinner in literally 10 seconds. Gulp, gulp, gulp, done. So, we found one of those complicated bowls with the bumps and sections so that he would slow down. It has worked, though he still finishes before Couper and way before Godiva.

Now all this leads us to worry at times that we are starving him. But it isn't like he is skin and bones, just way better than what he was. When we take him to the vet we will know more (and he will probably tell us he is still overweight - that's just what vets do).

But the point to all this is that Frankie had a birthday (??). We celebrated his 12th (?) birthday, but really it was his first birthday celebration. Having been here a year, he has seen birthday celebrations for Couper and Godiva, so he should know the birthday drill: Special dinner, yummies, presents, songs, and a puppy parade...you know, just like every other day, but it is his birthday.

So how did Frankie do? He was kind of nonplussed. Couper and Godiva saw presents and reacted the way they always do, like Frankie at mealtime. Frankie, maybe having seen their present frenzy before and realizing it does not immediately lead to eating (though there are food items in the bags) went to lie down. So, even putting a bag in his bed led to a scene like below:

Couper: My present!!!
Frankie: OK. OK. OK.

But in the end everyone got to enjoy a fun birthday party:

So happy 12th (?) (1st???) birthday (??) Frankie!

They Come in Brown? The Greatest Puppy Story Ever Told

On the tenth anniversary of us getting Couper, we are going to tell the often promised story of how we got him. It goes a little something like this:

Couper: Big Buddy, please tell me a story before I go to sleep.

Big Buddy: OK.  One story, then off to sleep you go.  What story is it you want to hear?

Couper: My favorite story.

Big Buddy: The one where you peed on the couch and I sat on it?

Couper: Yes, uh no.  I mean my other favorite story.  The one about how I became the Little Buddy.

Big Buddy: OK. Well, one day your mommy and I decided that we wanted the best little buddy in the whole wide world. So we called up Santa Claus and said, “Santa, please search the world over and find us the bestest little buddy in the whole land”.

Couper: Santa!?!

Big Buddy: Yes, Santa. So Santa looked and looked and he brought over a really really fine little buddy. We said, “Santa, that is a really really fine little buddy, but it is not the bestest little buddy in the whole wide world”. So Santa sighed and went back to his search.

Couper: Wow.

Big Buddy: Later Santa came back with an even finer little buddy. But it wasn’t the bestest little buddy in the whole wide world, so we sent him on his way again.

Couper: Poor Santa!

Big Buddy: Finally one day, Santa came to the door with the bestest little buddy in the whole wide world. Do you know who that little buddy was?

Couper: Me???

Big Buddy: Yup! You! We thanked Santa who replied with a hearty “Ho Ho Ho (you guys sure are picky...note to self, order more coal)” And we took you in and lived happily ever after.

Couper: That sure is a great story.  Is it true Big Buddy?

Big Buddy: You better believe it.

Couper: Wow. That’s a lot better than the story of how we found Godiva in the garbage.

Big Buddy: Couper! We did not find Godiva..

Couper: Good night Big Buddy. ZZZZzzzzzzz

Big Buddy: ...in the garbage...Good Night Little Buddy

Now that Couper is sound asleep, we can tell the real story of how we got Couper.  We tell him the story above, so if you see him, don’t mention anything I’m about to tell you.

It was early September 2003.  George W. Bush was in his first term. “Shake Ya Tailfeather” was #1 on the charts. The Simpsons were in their 15th season of doing flashback shtick where they tell you three things that went on that year.

Couper’s Mommy was in her first year of teaching and was living with her parents. I had been seeing Couper’s Mommy for about a year and a half.

We are going to introduce more characters, including one more that can be called “Couper’s Mommy”, so for the sake of simplicity, let’s just name our cast:

Little Buddy: Frank/Couper

Couper’s Daddy (2002-2003): Larry

Couper’s Mommy (2002-2003): Christie

Couper’s Mommy (2003-present): Jamy

Big Buddy: Big Buddy

There. That will help. Otherwise I would have to write a sentence like: “Couper’s former mommy called Couper’s Mommy to tell her that she had a dog…” and we would all be confused and I will go half insane a quarter of the way through this.

So, early on the morning of Saturday, September 6, 2003 Christie called Jamy to tell her that she had a dog who, if Jamy did not take it, was going to the pound.

The year prior, Jamy had been Christie's student teacher. Christie taught fourth grade. Her husband was a high school teacher. They had two daughters, probably about 4 and 6 years old at that point. They also had a large older dog that had been with the family for some time. At some point during the year, it was probably brought up that Christie had gotten a puppy for the girls.

The puppy’s name was Frank and he had gotten into big trouble that morning. Seems Larry was shaving, and not paying attention to Frank, so Frank peed on Larry’s leg. That was the final straw. Frank was out of there. Christie got one phone call to give him away or else it was the pound for Frank.

So, Jamy had to scramble. The first call was to her parents to see if they would be willing to have a dog in the house. Her parents are not really dog people, but surprisingly the answer was a qualified, trial period, yes.

Her second call was to me:

Jamy: Hey, I just got a call from Christie. She has a dog that either I take or he is going to the pound.

Me: What kind of dog?

Jamy: He is a miniature dachshund, 1 year old male with brown hair.

Now Jamy and I were both dog lovers.

I have wanted a dog since I was two and my parents bought me a book called “Solomon Shag” and a stuffed dog I named “Shaggy Wah Wah”. But despite my desperate pleas, I never got anything more than books or stuffed dogs. I always felt I was gone too much to get a dog once I moved into my own place, but I still always wanted a dog, the breed varying from cocker spaniel, to dalmatian, to lab. Basically whatever kind of dog I met last.

Jamy did have dogs growing up, but mostly they were guard dogs and definitely outside dogs. Her dream dog was a female chocolate lab which she would name Godiva (hey, we know that name!). I liked labs. My sister had two labs and they were great. So I was absolutely OK with this plan.

My exposure to dachshunds was pretty limited. Growing up, an older couple down the street had a black dachshund named Willie. Willie’s daddy was a proud Scotsman who occasionally would walk Willie in full Scottish regalia (yes, including the kilt). Willie was a nice dog who was always willing to be petted. At least when I wanted to pet him (meaning Willie’s daddy wasn’t wearing a kilt). Jamy’s brother also had a black dachshund named Frankie (hey, we know him!). I had met him once or twice to that point and knew him as the mellowest dog on the planet.

So, my first thought was, “great, lap dog”. My second thought was the stupidest question in my long history of stupid questions:

Me: They come in brown?

Jamy: I guess so.

In my defense, there really are not brown dachshunds, they are called red dachshunds, as pointed out in the 350 books and collectibles that we have gotten since. Still, I am pretty embarrassed by that question to this day.

Jamy: So, I am going to pick him up, show him to my parents and then bring him by.

Me: Brown, eh?

Jamy: I guess.

Jamy picked up Frank, showed him to her dad, who was wowed by his ability to play soccer, and brought him over. She brought in a small kennel (get a free dog, get a free kennel!) with the loudest little thing I ever heard. She opened up the kennel and out jumped the cutest brown dachshund I had ever seen (“OK, I guess I have seen brown ones”) who proceed to bark at me in my own house. As we learned through the years, this is his standard operating procedure. After he finally calmed down, I poured him some water in one of my fine 35 year old Corelle bowls and wondered what to do next. “Hey, I have some tennis balls, lets see if he likes that”. So, we went to the back yard, which at that point was pretty neglected and full of weeds after a summer of rain, and I threw the tennis ball. Couper ran through the weed jungle to where the ball landed, tail wagging so hard, you would think his heinie was going to fly off. I had just made a best buddy for life.

Now this wasn’t a done deal. She had to introduce Frank to her mom and figure out if and how this was going to work out. But one thing was clear at this point, we couldn’t let little Frank go to the pound.

So, with Frank’s future still a bit up in the air, I headed out to the stores for my usual Saturday errands. At K-Mart, I decided to take a look down the puppy aisle. Bowl? OK, can’t keep using the fine Corelle dinnerware. Treats? Yup, gotta have something other than water. Toys? I am pretty sure he will like those. (I bought the Daily Growl, a rubber squeaky newspaper that lasted at most 2 minutes and a rubber hamburger that was his favorite toy for years until the last one wore out and they inexplicably stopped making them). Trouble was I wasn’t entirely sure the dog was a done deal. I tried calling Jamy four times from the K-mart, but no answer. I bought the stuff anyhow. Next I went to Safeway. Hey, they have a puppy aisle also. More stuff in the cart. More unanswered phone calls. Bought that stuff too. In the end, I bought about $70 worth of dog stuff for a dog we may or may not be keeping (and wouldn’t be living with me anyhow - My ratio of dog toys to dogs living with me was infinity...even now, ten years later with three dogs, it is just below infinity).

I finally got hold of Jamy. The dog was a go, at least for the near future. She brought him over for Saturday night dinner. He of course barked at me the moment he came in the door. However, he did seem to like the $70 worth of stuff that I had gotten. From the start, the free dog was anything but free. He showed us how much he liked his new stuff and his new playland a little later by peeing in the kitchen. His house. Marked.

There was one more problem; he couldn’t be Frank. As mentioned, Jamy’s brother’s family had a dachshund named Frankie. Calling this dog Frank would be derivative, not to mention confusing. So, we went back and forth on names. Godiva was out, being that he wasn’t a she.  My suggestion, Regis, was voted down. We went back in Frank’s history. Before living with Christie and Larry, he had another owner. We didn’t know much about these people, we got something about them being older and the puppy was a bit much for them. Anyhow, his name with his first owners was Coupe (small, fast, and low to the ground?). We liked that and eventually decided to add the “r” to make the name ours. So, welcome Couper.

There was another problem, one that I only brought up in retrospect many years later. A dog was a really bad idea for Jamy at that moment in time. She was a month into her first teaching job, a second grade class. Anyone who has ever met a first year teacher knows that they are overwhelmed. She barely had time for anything but school stuff. Not to mention that first year teachers, and especially elementary school teachers, catch every bug that the kids bring in. The last thing she needed was a dog that demanded so much attention, he peed on his former owner’s leg when he didn’t get any. But what else were we to do? Let him go to the pound? Try to find yet another owner? I guess he could have stayed with me, but with an hour commute each way to work, I was gone more than I was home. There was more chance of people being home at Jamy’s parent’s house. So, it was a bad idea, but it was Couper’s best bet. I kept my mouth shut and let it play out. In the end, it was a bad idea short term, but the best idea for everybody long term. It has been the best ten years.

And that is the story of how we got Couper. But, if he asks, just tell him the Santa story, please. After all, he is the bestest Little Buddy in the whole wide world.

Side Notes, Afterthoughts, and other Miscellanea:

- Couper (Frank) peeing on Larry’s leg is why I always pay attention to Couper no matter what I am doing. I do not want my leg peed on. So, while shaving, brushing my teeth, on the potty, even in the shower when we had an open shower, I play with Couper. You can’t be too careful with that one.

- In 2011 Jamy had a student teacher. We had her and her husband over to the house one night. As Couper was his usual insane self, playing and demanding to play, I said to the student teacher, “See that one over there. If for some reason, he pees on my leg, by law we have to give him to you.” She gave me a look that was somehow a combination of confusion and terror.

- Above I wrote that Jamy’s dream dog was a chocolate lab. As we have stated before, her childhood dream was to have four dachshund puppies. I stand by the latter statement.

- Jamy eventually wound up having both of Christie and Larry’s girls in her second grade class (by design, when you are a teacher in the district, you get your kids in the class you want). When Jamy would tell the class tales of the mischief that Couper got into the night before, the girls would nod their head and say, “Yeah, he was like that at our house too”.

- The most tenuous moment of the last ten years came on Halloween night 2004, a little over a year after we got Couper. Christie, Larry, and their girls came by the house for Trick or Treat. We let them in to see Frank/Couper. The girls were having fun playing with him again, and he was happy to see them. When Larry said it was time to go, the younger girl, maybe 5 at the time, turned to her parents and said, “Now that Frank is all better, can we have him back?”. It was all I could do to keep from leaping across the room, grabbing Couper and yelling, “NOOOOOOOOOOO”. But, in retrospect, I needn't have worried, even momentarily. Larry, still nursing a peed upon leg, was having none of it. Christie diplomatically said, “No, Couper is Jamy and Warren’s dog now”. But it was a heartbreaking and frightening moment.

- I am an idiot. I let Jamy and Couper stay with her parents way too long. My fault entirely. However, some of the best moments of those years were either getting Couper or when Jamy brought him over. When I would go get him at Jamy’s parent’s house, you never saw a dog so excited. I would let him out of his kennel and he would jump up and down so much it took two minutes to get a leash on him. It was just as fun when Jamy brought him over. I had a huge three car garage and Jamy had a garage door opener and a place to park her car. From in the house, I would hear the garage open, the car pull in, then the garage close. Then I would a couple of barks, and then about 20 seconds of desperate scratching at the door and whining. Jamy would get to the door and open it, and my Little Buddy would burst in full speed turning the corner from the laundry room to the living room, all tiled, and to the sliding glass door so that we could go outside and immediately start playing. Maybe it was all too much fun and that is why I let it go on too long. If only I could go back in time and tell 2004 me that it would be even better if they were here all the time.

- It is a good thing that we didn’t keep the name Frank ten years ago, because who knew that 9 and a half years later, cousin Frankie would come to live with us. I wonder sometimes when I call Frankie by name if Couper thinks I am talking to him, but he doesn’t seem to react to it. Then again, he only really reacts to what he really wants to react to anyway.

- We sometimes wonder what would have happened to Couper if we couldn't take him and he had been taken to the pound. He was young and a pure breed (not to mention the cutest puppy in the whole world), so he may have had a great chance. On the other hand, he is so obnoxious when he first meets people that he might have scared people off, especially those with kids. It is the great dilemma with Couper, he is such a pain to meet, but then so great when he lets you in. Anyhow, in honor of Couper not going to the pound, we make an annual donation to the Humane Society every September. Hopefully it helped another Couper or two along the way.

- It took two families, but we were the perfect family for Couper. We were able to give him all the attention he could want. Well, that isn't true, he wants all the attention there is. We were able to give him all the attention we could give without him wanting to pee on us. And as it turns out, he was the perfect dog for us. Lot's of fun, not too big for our house or yard, and just cuddly enough to offset his almost non-stop playing. Thirty five years after Solomon Shag and Shaggy Wah Wah, I finally had my dog.

- Today we have a trio of dachshunds housed in a shrine for dachshunds. We have a red dachshund, a black and tan dachshund, and a piebald dachshund. Not a brown one in the bunch.