Far too seldom, I take our dog for a walk through our neighborhood. It’s always fun. She’s a dachshund, a miniature long-haired, who, when the grooming appointment was far enough in the past, can look like a parade float waddling down the sidewalk. As you can imagine, she gets quite a few stares — and smiles.
Like this morning, for instance. On a nearby street, a lady on a bicycle stopped, activated her kickstand and proceeded to give Daisy — that’s her name, like the sour cream brand — a five-minute scratch-and-rub. This lady has dachshunds, too, hence the connection. And as I turned the corner to my street, a lady in a truck yelled out: “Quite the guard dog ya got there!”
“She’s a fierce one,” I said back, and we both laughed.
But the best comment came the other day, when my wife and I were out for a walk. A kid in a stroller, apparently heading to the zoo with his family, pointed at the dog and said “Funny doggy!”
My wife thought she heard something different. “Yes, she is a puppy doggy.”
The kid wasn’t having it. “Funny doggy,” he said. I’ll give him this: He was accurate.
I know you’re wondering why I just wrote a few paragraphs about my dog. It isn’t so much that I want to blog about my dog, though I’m sure she’ll be a constant character. I just wanted some text to play around with and format in this theme.
Bear with me.