My Three Dogs

My wife did not want any pets, but she was out-voted by my two daughters. I remained neutral and impartial. My wife gave in, but under the condition that my daughters cared for and cleaned up after it. I said “it” because we were supposed to have only one pet.

This is Tony

 

Tony is a Dachshund. Dachshund in German means,” don’t bother me”. Tony has a character.

I have tried to have long, philosophical discussions with Tony, but he ignores me. He doesn’t listen in Italian or English. I tried German and Spanish and one of my daughters even tried French. He still didn’t listen. It appears to me that Tony was born to ignore. I know his ears work because he throws a tirade when he hears other dogs bark. They could be a block away and barking in Greek and he’d go crazy, running between the front door and the side window.

Tony is two dogs long and half a dog high; I say he’s a dog with perspective, like one of those graphics with a disappearing horizon. He will go after any male dog, no matter what their height. He has no fear in this regard. He does fear everything else, however. Thunder, lightning, puppies, sneezes, Katie Perry; I could write a list longer than he is and still write some more.

Tony does a lot of sighing and yawning, especially when he wants to be left alone. He is also very defensive and jealous of my wife. Coming to my wife’s defense is the only time he goes into the Dober-mini mode.

All in all, he’s a good boy, though. He is happy and aloof.

This is Cheebee

Cheebee is Tony’s mate. She’s a good girl and very affectionate, but not with Tony. She growls at him, takes his food, robs him of his treats and hides his bones when he’s not looking. Cheebee nips at Tony’s hind legs to tell him to get lost. She’s got an attitude when it comes to Tony.

Cheebee is a year and a half younger than her mate. My younger daughter insisted that we keep her when she was a puppy. My wife didn’t want two pets four times more than she didn’t want one, but she was out-voted, again. She accepted on the condition that my daughters cared for and cleaned up after both dogs. They hadn’t kept their promise with Tony, so they really promised, this time.

When Cheebee was little, she was bad and very mischievous. She would destroy half of everything she could get her teeth into. She chewed up one of every pair of footwear that we had. I think she was in cahoots with my daughters so they could get new shoes.

I had a long, philosophical discussion with Cheebee about biting. I told her that bad dogs bite and good dogs don’t bite. She listened. She listens more than Tony ever did. Now, she only bites Tony.

Given Cheebee’s animus towards Tony, I don’t know where or how it happened, but Cheebee got pregnant. She gave birth to a litter of 8 little Dachshunds. One was premature and passed away after three days, but the other seven were strong and healthy. There were four males and three females. Once they were old enough, they were adopted out to good homes. My girls were heart-broken at the prospect of losing all of them, so they insisted we keep one.

My wife didn’t want three dogs twice as much as she didn’t want two. I lost count, but I think that means she didn’t want any pets eight times as much as she wanted one. My dogs aren’t good at math, anyway. In any case, she accepted on the condition that our daughters cared for and cleaned up after all three dogs. They hadn’t kept their promise with Tony and Cheebee, so they really, really promised this time. I told my wife to get it in writing and she thought I was being silly.

I bought her a new mop and bucket and about a dozen rolls of paper towels.

This is Nebbia

Nebbia is one of Tony’s and Cheebee’s sons. We had a difficult time naming Nebbia. For me, it was a toss-up between “Little Giza” and “Saint Lawrence” because everywhere he goes he either leaves a little pyramid or a seaway behind him that my wife has to clean up with those things that I bought her. My daughters have become very good at “announcing” to my wife what Nebbia leaves behind and my wife has become very good at cursing at me for the new mop and bucket I bought her. I don’t think it’ll last long, though. I think he’ll grow out of it, quick enough.

I don’t like the name “Nebbia”. I call him “Pubby” because my wife has a difficult time saying “puppy”; English is not her mother language, after all.

Pubby is half a dog long and one eighth a dog high. He is a true mix of his parents. He occasionally listens in any language and occasionally doesn’t. He also ignores philosophical discussions, but bites my hand to get me to shut up. He also bites Tony at every opportunity, growls at him, steals his food, robs him of his treats, hides his bones when he’s not looking and nips at Tony’s hind legs to tell him to get lost. 

Pubby gets along really well with his Mom.

What I’m trying to figure out, not that I’m an expert in Dachshund psychology or the like, is why Pubby can’t go to sleep if he is not curled up next to Tony and why Tony isn’t afraid of Pubby at bedtime. It is a mystery that defies explanation, I guess.