An unintended sabbatical.

Four weeks ago began as a normal day. My husband brought me coffee in bed and then took our two Dachshunds, Larry and Lucy, outside, after which he proceeded to get ready for work, kissed me good-bye and left. The dogs got back in bed with me after their breakfast and burrowed down under the blankets, as Doxie's do, while I got up and got ready for the day. 
It was eleven o'clock that Monday morning when I noticed Lucy standing by our back door, wild-eyed and appearing to be choking. By the time I got to her and picked her up I realized she wasn't breathing. She was gone in less than three minutes.
Four weeks later my stomach still clinches and I tear up when I think of those last moments and my complete inability to help her. So, this is my belated "Ode to Lucy". 
She was a long-haired Dachshund, black and tan, and only eight years old when we lost her. When she became part of our family we already had a short-haired black & tan at home named Bob.  Ken and I had tickets to a charity auction that was being held a few weeks before Christmas. The minute we arrived at the event we noticed someone walking around the ballroom with a ten week old Doxie puppy, appropriately wrapped in a big red chenille blanket dressed in a red sweater, making sure everyone saw her. I overheard my husband, Ken, telling someone, "We have one like that at home and they are a wonderful pet. The last auction we were at one went for nine hundred dollars." That was a huge compliment to Bob because Ken has warmed up to our dogs slowly, finally allowing Bob to sleep with us. Of course, we petted and admired her, and I jokingly told him, "You'll be done with your Christmas shopping if you buy me that puppy." 
Later, when the live auction was beginning, I took a seat with some women and Ken stood across the room with a group of men. When they brought Lucy out the woman next to me asked "Isn't that your husband bidding on the puppy?"  I think I said, "Surely not." before turning  to look. But, amazingly, there he was with his card in the air. The auctioneer announced, "Two fifty, do I hear two seventy five?" Someone else bid. "Three hundred, do I hear three hundred?" Ken's hand shot up again. "Three hundred, do I hear three fifty." He badgered the crowd for awhile more, but the bidding had stopped, probably due to everyone else at the auction having enough common sense to not want to train a puppy during the winter months. 
Ken kept looking around the room, clearly wondering if anyone else was going to bid. But, the auctioneer called out, "SOLD to the man over there!", pointing at Ken. A moment later I was handed my new puppy who came with free vet visits for six months, a crate, and her red blanket. We drove home in semi-shock, neither of us given to that kind of spontaneity very often. I still believe Ken was trying to win points with me by bidding feeling pretty safe because he thought the bidding war would go to $900 like it did the last auction we attended. He could also be fairly confident that even I would not want to spend that much for a dog. So, we both got a surprise!
Lucy was the gift that went on giving. She was fluffy, with spaniel like ears and a sweet face, and without coaxing she would flounce and dance whenever she wanted attention. She loved her treats and she loved me. All she wanted in her Doxie life was to be as close to me as possible, thereby often becoming shut in our bedroom because she would sneak in after me and I wouldn't realize she was there, leaving her inside when I left the room and shut the door behind me. 
I miss her. 
I have tried to write this several times and couldn't get past the first paragraph. Two autumns ago we had to put down our Bob because of back problems and last August I was with my daughter when she put down her Doxie, Arthur.  After Bob died we got a puppy , a black & tan  we named Larry. We got him partly because we didn't want Lucy to be alone it was obvious she had withdrawn and was depressed. Poor little Larry has had the huge responsibility of helping me through this. I wonder how much worse it would be without this peppy and persistent buddy here with me who insists that I stop moping and give him attention.
Somehow it would be wrong to not eulogize our special girl. And, most of you will understand because you have had such a love, also. I have come out of my blue funk enough to not dwell on those last few minutes, but instead think about my twirling, dancing princess dog that was my best Christmas present ever. I thank God for the eight wonderful years she was ours.

Larry's boy toy

I am a hopeless dog lover. We have, over the years, had a Poodle, Pomeranian mix (a mutt then - a designer dog now), a Brittany Spaniel, a Westie, and for the last ten years, we have had three Daschunds. A year ago our beloved Bob had to be put to down for back problems. Putting him to sleep was one of the hardest days of my life. His partner, Lucy, had become less and less social after his problems began and he withdrew from us, so I (with Ken's permission) got a puppy-for her, and for me.
Bob was a short-haired black and tan, so that was what I wanted, because his temperament was so good. Emily, our daughter who was living with us at the time, went with me to pick up Larry.(Oh, I forgot to mention she moved in with us with two Doxie's of her own...it was pretty crazy here for awhile.)
Larry was three pounds of cuteness and, from the first hour, dominated the other dogs. He was relentless in his pursuit of play and often had the other dogs chasing him, cornering him, and somehow wiggling out of the corner he'd been boxed into, chasing them. It was hilarious.
Emily moved out last August and Larry turned his attention on Ken. Lucy is a plump long-hair black and tan, and easily wins the 'laziest dog on earth' award, plus she is about as much fun as a stuffed toy (howbeit sweet in her own way), so it was evident he needed a playmate.
Ken has a history of tolerating our dogs (for me), but when I brought Larry home Ken was smitten. Larry began hiding tennis balls under pieces of furniture he couldn't retrieve them from, and would whine and make other mysterious noises until Ken would get down on all fours and rescue them for him. Then,Ken would toss the ball and Larry would chase it and come back to him, but couldn't factor how to let go of the balls, so Ken worked with him to 'drop the ball'.
It has evolved into a never-ending game that only happens when Ken is home. Larry acts like a normal dog until about 5:30 PM, then he finds a ball and waits by the back door waiting for Ken, dropping the ball at his feet when Ken walks in the door. The weekends verge on obsession. When Ken goes downstairs to his office, Larry nudges his ball between the railing (I think he enjoys hearing it thump down the stairs) and waits at the top for Ken to bring it to him and play again. And, Ken does it, giving me a helpless look that this puppy can possibly have him so well trained.
Ken has started hiding the balls at bed time, giving Larry a chewie to calm him down. This morning when Ken got up Larry was sitting below the drawer Ken hides the balls in, staring at it. Guess what? Larry got the ball. They're playing now.
This is a part of my husband I never thought I'd see...he's Larry's boy toy. It's a full life!