Top 10 reasons I don’t like Sundays!

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In chronological order.

1.) I was woken (rather rudely I might add) at 8 a.m. – at least two hours before any self-respecting dachshund would think of rising on a Sunday.

2.) I was punished simply because my stature allows me to fit through the fence. It is not my fault the fencing man put the posts dachshund width apart. My svelte shape and inquisitive nature are to be envied .. not punished.

3.) The bone that I worked so hard to fit through the fence for was confiscated. It’s not every day that you find a chicken bone. I found the bone. It was in my mouth. My mean mommy had no business shoving her hand in there and taking it for herself. I simply know that she waited until I wasn’t looking and had it for herself.

4.) Dachshunds are meant to roam. My parents clearly don’t understand my fine dachshund breeding. I was simply checking the VERY FAR REACHES of the fence for areas that badgers may slip into the dachshund domain. I certainly was not intended to be LEASHED for doing what comes naturally to me.

5.) I have repeatedly told Brownie his advances are unwanted and unwelcome. Enough said.

6.) I have 7 holes in my body that I know of. I was just fine with that. Two in my ears, two nostrils, a mouth and two that are a little personal. I had no intention of adding to this count because Annabel has a big mouth. Furthermore, I was perfectly capable of finishing the fight myself – the injustice of my mother holding me back was too much to bear. Does she not know I am undefeated in battle?

7.) The vet simply does not understand me. I am Herman the German. I am to be waited upon, not left waiting. Come on, a cat that kept peeing on the couch went ahead of me. Seriously? Is that an emergency? My injury was by no means life-threatening, but come on man, I pee in the house all the time, you don’t see me getting an emergency visit. I can pee on the couch too… wanna see?

8.) Things that I am not: a book report…. an obese person’s stomach…. or a lost cat poster on a tree. What happens to all of these things? Stapling. I am a dachshund. I am not intended to be stapled. I certainly am never to hear the words “well, at least I made it three for three” from a veterinarian again.

9.) I am also not a lamp. So what the heck was the vet doing putting a lampshade on my head? Seriously. I was shaved. Stapled. Shot up with drugs. My temperature taken in a way I will not speak of. And then to put a cone on my head? I will bite that man’s ankles when he least expects it. Now if someone will drive me to Yonkers and point me towards the back entrance where he parks his car… I would appreciate it.

10.) Just when I assumed the injustice was over, and my parents removed the cone for the ride home, they put what I can only assume to be a flotation device around my head. Do they not realize dachshunds do not swim? There is no water hazard in my home. I am too short to fall in the tub. So why on earth must I smell and look like I am headed to the beach and bought a pool floatie two sizes too small?

In all seriousness though, the playdate was a lot of fun and I very much enjoyed rolling in the Doxhoonts Very Good Smelling Yucky Stuff!

I will not even dignify the picture with a caption. Instead, I am using my wound to solicit sympathy … and perhaps some care packages with extra bobos and tasty biscuits. I am using my 10 days strict rest (they said the crate, but I hear “couch”) to work on my tan in the sunspot on the far end of the couch… but I could use some extra bobos to destuff and some biscuits to eat on there. That’s right. I get to eat my biscuits in a lap for now. (By no means do you young doxies out there try this at home to get more biscuits!). Cocoa, perhaps, would you like to come kiss it better?