I always enjoyed standing on my hind legs like a chipmunk.
I was born sometime in the late Spring of 1985 in Gainesville, Florida. I was a mixture between a
Dachsund and a Basset Hound! Quite a mix, huh? The Dachsund part is why I was so good at standing
on my hind legs, low center of gravity, you know.
I was the last of a litter of puppies to be adopted from the Alachua County Animal Control and
thankfully for me, Stan and his daughter Venus rescued me just a day or two before my time would
have been up. Whew! Close call there!
Stan lived in a very small apartment when he first got me and I didn't like that style of life
one bit. And I let Stan know by chewing on everything in sight. In retrospect, I was very lucky
that Stan didn't get rid of me during the 2 years we lived in the apartment, because I chewed up the
carpet, the linoleum, the panelling on the wall, his record albums, photo albums, lamp cords,
shoes, pretty much anything I could get my teeth into. I was NOT happy confined in that small space.
But finally Stan bought a house and he fenced in the back yard and made a doggie door for me so
I could go outside anytime I felt like it. Boy was that nice! I thought I had it made then until
one day Stan brought home another dog. Her name was Buffy and she was a very jealous dog. I must
say that we didn't get along very well at all because Buffy always wanted Stan's attention even when
he was trying to play with me. After a while I kind of gave up and just stayed off by myself.
Buffy lived with us for about 2 years, I think, and she was always a stay-at-home dog, never trying
to get out of the yard. Me, I got out every chance I could to roam the neighborhood. But oddly
enough, one day Buffy did get out of the yard and she never came back. Good riddance, I thought,
but I did feel bad for Stan because I know he likes all dogs. After that, I became friendlier again
but I still felt a little standoffish.
Anyway I feel I had a pretty good life after all. I started getting sick in 1996 and didn't have
much energy or ambition to do much of anything but sleep and eat. I got fat and developed problems getting
up the back stairs to get into the house. Stan built me a ramp, that he even carpeted, to make it easier
for me to go in and out of the house. He really is a nice person.
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By the end of the summer of 1997 I could barely walk and one evening in September when Stan came
home, I could tell something big was happening to me. I couldn't even get off the bed to go greet him
at the door. I could hardly move at all. I felt really bad and I didn't know what to do.
Stan cried when he saw me and he carried me outside so I could go to the bathroom. He set me down
in the back yard and I did my business. Afterwards, I had the urge to simply look around the yard
to see my territory one last time. I don't know why I knew it was the last time, but I did. I think
Stan knew it, too, cause he looked so sad.
We spent that night lying on the living room floor and every time I moved, I yelped because it
hurt me so. When daylight came, he took me for a ride to the veterinary office. I usually hated
going to that place because they always wanted to stick me or do something uncomfortable to me
when I was there, but this time it was different. Stan went with me to the little room and set me
on the table. I lay very still because everything hurt so bad. Stan talked to me and petted me
and the doctor did the same thing but I could barely acknowledge that they were there. Everything
looked blurry and out of focus.
Then I felt a little stab of pain in the back of my neck and heard Stan crying loudly. I wanted to
tell Stan that it was OK and he didn't need to worry about me, I would be fine. But I didn't have
the chance. I dozed off quickly and all the pain disappeared in a flash.
Now I'm comfortable in my after life and I see Stan has a new dog. I'm not jealous, I never was,
and I'm glad Stan is doing fine. I had a good life and I know Luna will also.
Thanks for listening to me. OS.
