Archive for April, 2013|Monthly archive page

Spoiled Dogs

In All About Me, Being Cute, Shelley Widhalm on April 28, 2013 at 11:30 am

Zoey hangs out wherever she wants, loving the spoiled life.

Zoey hangs out wherever she wants, loving the spoiled life.

I don’t wish anything different about myself.

I only wish I had more admirers to drive up my cuteness factor.

As a very adorable long-haired miniature dachshund, I am told, or more like Shelley, my BFF, hears comments about me, such as “Isn’t she just cute?” “What a pretty girl.” And my favorite, “She is a princess, isn’t she?”

“Just a little,” or “She is spoiled,” Shelley will say in response.

Spoiled? I think not. I deserve treats. I deserve to be carried on walks if I don’t want to get my feet cold or am a bit peeked. And I deserve to get presents for my birthday, Christmas and any dog-related holidays.

In other words, I deserve to be loved, admired, cared for and pampered.

Here are my suggestions for expressing puppy love:

• Kiss me in the morning.
• Let me kiss you back with doggie licks.
• Give me treats whenever you leave.
• Kiss me before you leave.
• Don’t leave me for too long.
• Come back and let me know that you missed me. I certainly let you know that I missed you with my tail wags and exposed belly.
• Make sure my blanket is set up on our bed, so that I can have extra softness for sleeping.
• Take me on walks, but carry me when I’m tired (see above).
• Love me all the time.
• Tell me how cute I am, or did I already say that?

Dog Seeks Cat-Friend

In All About Me, Finding friends, Shelley Widhalm, Wanting to explore on April 21, 2013 at 11:30 am

Zoey the Cute Dachshund is sad that the neighbor cat doesn't want to be friends.

Zoey the Cute Dachshund is sad that the neighbor cat doesn’t want to be friends.

I don’t get rejected, well, except by cats.

Twice, I’ve tried to befriend cats, and though I’m their size as a 10-pound miniature dachshund, they aren’t interested in my offers.

The first time was with a group of feral cats who live underneath the shed at my BFF Shelley’s dad’s house. I peeked in the hole in the doorway (the shed’s kind of old) and sniffed out their presence, but they didn’t come out.

When I saw one of them, I was inside on the window ledge, so I barked a “hello” over and over, but Feral Cat would not look up at me. To make it worse, I never saw her again, because when I came back for another visit, word was the feral cats had moved on.

The second time was last weekend when Shelley and her family were doing some work in the garage and, though I was boxed in, literally, by a row of empty boxes, I played a Houdini and escaped through an opening.

“Zoey, get back here!” Shelley’s dad yelled as chairs tumbled and she and Shelley took after me.

I wasn’t interested in obeying, no way. I had a whole neighborhood to explore to identify where all of my dog friends actually lived, instead of just greeting them with barks from the backyard in an anonymous calling out to each other.

At the house next door, I saw a black-and-white cat and walked up to her, slowing a little when I noticed that she was hissing, back arched.

“I’m so sorry,” Shelley said over and over to the cat’s owner as she ran up to us.

The cat apparently did not want to be friends, even though I kept trying to show her, with my gentle approach, that I only wanted to say “hello.”

I got scooped up and taken away and was returned to the garage, boxed in again away from all the potential friend sources.

What a way to feel rejected.

A Dog’s Stuff

In All About Me, My stuffed toys, Shelley Widhalm on April 14, 2013 at 11:30 am

Zoey awaits by her packed belongings prior to a trip.

Zoey awaits by her packed belongings prior to a trip.

Here is my stuff:

• Treats in the cupboard, including chewy, flavored bones, milk bones and chews of all shapes and sizes, plus my organic, healthy, passable dog food.
• My teddy bears, including White Dog, who I use for my zen moments before bedtime by biting his neck and sliding my feet back and forth, just like I did when I was a puppy with my momma. I emit long high-pitched sighs as I release the tensions of my day. Plus, I have two hedgehogs, one for throwing and chasing and the other for tug-of-war, a long wiener dog toy (I’m a dachshund, not a wiener dog, BTW), a bunny and lots of balls.
• Two nyla bones, one for the living room and one for the bedroom.
• A Frisbee that I like to chew rather than catch mid-air. I like catching balls, but Frisbees make for good chewing, well until they’re taken away and put in the trash bin.
This list is all I need. I don’t need to put stuff in storage or in the basement or have collections of the same thing.

I live a pretty simple life, because I’m not building my world out of and attaching meaning to my possessions.

I’ve even lost some toys (I’ve been told they were old, smelly and ripped), but I can’t remember them, so this means I’m unattached.

But that’s the life of a dog, I suppose.

It’s simple: All I want is food, love, play time …

And treats. Treats! Treats!

Sick Days for Bouncy Puppies

In All About Me, Seeking attention, Shelley Widhalm, Sleeping soundly on April 7, 2013 at 11:30 am

I'm sleeping very comfortably. Yum!

I’m sleeping very comfortably. Yum!

I like sick days.

Shelley, my BFF, was sick on Wednesday with a bad cold, chills and dizziness, so she stayed home all day. She was in bed with me, and I didn’t even go outside, because I wanted to make sure she was all right.

When she got up to make dinner, I looked at her like, “What are you doing? We’re cozy here. And aren’t you sick?”

“I’m hungry,” she said.

I followed her to the kitchen, but did she share?

“You don’t like this, remember?”

It was spicy microwave food.

No, I didn’t remember not liking anything.

I waited patiently by her chair, and she just ate and went back to bed, forgetting something important: feeding me. I followed her.

Where’s my treat? I pleaded with my eyes.

She just slept, and then she got up and started reading, still in bed.

I liked this, my bedfellow and I staying inside on a sunny spring day.

And, of course, I barked at all the sounds. The bonus was that Shelley apparently was too tired to tell me to be quiet.

So, when is the next sick day?