The Jingle of a Dog's Collar...
Now, how this tales unfolds, goes something like this:
I had been wanting a dog for some time, and, had to sort of accept the waiting game, as, I didn’t want to bring a little pooch into my world unless I was absolutely sure he would be in good hands. This meant being financially stable (cash flow for dog food, toys and vet visits), having lots of time for the little guy and having a place of my own for him to roam properly. So, after I bought the house, went out on my own working out of the basement, and, had enough scratch in a coffee can buried in the backyard, I set out to rescue a little friend.
Design-wise, the Dachshund did it for me. The coat, the color, and man, that length. I used to live over on Hawthorne Street, not a block from it, and this gal would walk her little wiener dog by every now and again. I loved seeing it pound down the sidewalk.
In May of 2005, in the middle of a visit from the parents, I decided I was ready for the purchase. I did some research, poured over thousands of web photos and started the hunt around town. Mom, being the saavy navigator, located a breeder in the far, outer reaches of Southeat Portland.
Out we went, some miles away. I remember pulling up and hearing the barking at the door of the place. This meant nothing to me at the time. We were greeted by a weary-lookin’ mother, who invited us in, simultaneously corralling the herd of barking Dachshunds.
Gary was shuffled up to us, so small, so skiddish and not quite able to climb the carpeted stairs like his parents and grandparents. I remember how small he was. And, keep in mind, his parents-in their fullgrown state-weren’t all that big anyway.
I practiced holding him, asked some questions, met his family, and, the kids of the house, all eight of them. Plus, mom was pregnant. Breeders, alright!
The price was $350, and man, when thinking back to that fateful purchase, money was no object at that point. I would’ve payed whatever they were asking. He was coming home with me at all costs. Spare no expense!
And with a couple signatures and an exchange of some cold hard cash, we were outta there.
I remember being kinda sad, thinking about how he’d never see his mom again. I felt like we were tearing them apart or something. Did he feel sad?
Dad drove back to the house. Mom guided from the passenger side. Gary and I got to know eachother in the back seat. He whined a bit, then rolled up like a little cinnamon roll on my chest. We bonded all the way back to the pad.
And that was it.
Wecome home, Gary.
Brothers, we are.
