Episode #96 of the Countdown podcast is up. He takes a break from the world of politics to talk about two of his dogs. It’s a long episode, too.
A-Block (1:29)
- Do you have a dog? Seems like a simple question. Until you’re reminded that Donald Trump never had a dog in his life and only refers to dogs as insults, while Joe Biden got a shelter Shepherd who apparently had the insight to bite somebody from the corrupted Secret Service. I’m a late-life dog guy and there’s no zealot like a convert, so let me tell you about two of my five pups. The first — was my first. The story of how I was adopted by my gal Stevie is the stuff of improbability, including the role played in it by ... Rudy Giuliani?
B-Block (18:42)
- Stevie’s story led me to the American Maltese Association’s rescue arm and soon she and her sister were joined by a little guy with a bad heart, who recovered after delicate surgery.
- And then last year I was asked to take in another pup named Mishu whose heart was even worse and for whom there was no surgery to have.
C-Block (44:45)
- Mishu’s story ended in the only way it could. And every moment was worth it. And every moment, he remains with me.
And don’t forget … EVERY DOG HAS ITS DAY
My family had dachshunds … five of them. Not all at once, but there were times when we had two at the same time, which was exciting enough.
I met my first dachshund when I was a few days old. (Jeb Bush brags that he met two future Presidents — George Senior and George Junior. I think I got the better deal. Hell, I know it.) Mom and Dad brought me home from the hospital in a bassinet, and when they got inside their house and set down the bassinet — with me in it — Daisy jumped into it and realized that there was something in it.
Mom was attacked by a big dog when she was little; she still shivers around big dogs. However, she and Dad went to visit one of Dad’s relatives, who had a friendly dachshund named Tina. Tina was not only friendly, but an attention junkie; if you stopped petting her, she’d look up at you as if to complain, “You stopped!”
After Daisy was put to sleep, we went into a pet store “just to look” (we all know how that turns out, don’t we?) and met Fritz, the second one. Fritz’s back went down while we were on vacation. We got a new puppy named Tobi from a breeder. Tobi had a “flaw”: he was missing a testicle. Well, we didn’t care, and he was a good dog. (They’ve all been good dogs, to varying degrees.)
In hindsight, Tobi was the first of the next three that someone else didn’t want. (Yes, I’m shocked, too!)
Number four was a long-haired chocolate-coated dachshund named Skippy. He was a humane society rescue, and the couple he was living with wanted to move. We saw an ad for him in the newspaper and were curious. But one day, his ad was gone; he’d been bought. A few weeks later, he was back there. Evidently, the family that got him didn’t like the fact that he chewed on things, like a healthy puppy is wont to do.
So we went “just to look” at Skippy, and yep, we got him. He wasn’t a fan of peanut butter; his back feet were bent outwards, and he skipped when he ran. We decided to rename him; more precisely, we decided that “Skippy” wasn’t his real name. We then decided on “Willy”. He looked like a Willy. (At this point, I had noticed that the names of our dachshunds all had the letter “I” in them. I pointed this out, and we continued the trend.)
Number five was “Mary Alice” and was living with a friend of my brother’s. This friend realized that he had gotten in over his head in getting a dachshund, and he was looking for a better home. He realized we had dachshunds and called. Fate stepped in, in that Dad answered the phone. Mom would have said no, but Dad said yes. We started referring to “Mary Alice” as “Dad’s Dog”, which she picked up on. (She was the smartest one of the bunch. There were times that I would have not been surprised if she started talking in English.) (She was also the only one we got for free. And we got half a bag of dog food as well.) Once again, we opted for the shorter “Katie” instead of “Mary Alice”.
Except for a few months between Daisy and Fritz, we had dachshunds for almost 50 years running. Of course there are stories. MANY stories. Fritz blowing bubbles in a lake near Bemidji. Tobi (the skinny one) getting out of our yard several times, until Dad escape-proofed the back yard. Willy rolling in sawdust. Katie acting like a drama queen if I decided to go to the bathroom before we had our after-supper walk. But if I start telling them, I’d never finish this entry.