When my youngest kid was suffering through chemotherapy, I made the choice to spice up her 25th birthday with a new puppy. Even though, I’m not a dachshund fan because of their stupidity and gluttony, my kid loves wiener dogs. The breeder had over a dozen from which to choose: traditional reds and blacks, and piebalds. My kid naturally selected Cricket who was born on April 20th and gave her the middle name Kush. (I was pleasantly surprised it wasn’t Mary Jane.)
After recovery and remission, my kid moved out, but Cricket stayed. She’d become so accustomed here and had grown far too big to fly under an airline seat that it seemed like a wise idea. Now, after 8 and one-half years of adoption, Cricket is still here and mastered her incessant watch-dogging and random bathrooming habits.
Early this morning, I was in the most delightful slumber. Then, my mattress began to shake. Soon my bed was rocking and rolling. Ye Gods! Is there an earthquake? I abruptly stood up, turned on the light, and beheld another pillow to be rocking my bed. What the hell?
Dumb Cricket had managed to crawl head first into the pillow case, and given her length couldn’t turn herself around to get out. Perhaps, had it been eight or nine AM, I would have found this amusing, but at 4:30, I was not pleased. After several, unsuccessful attempts to pull her fatness out, I just picked up the pillow and shook her out on the bed. She was seemingly grateful for her release, unlike me who had been rudely awakened.
Hopefully tonight, she will be on guard duty anxiously awaiting the Easter Bunny and sparing me from her shenanigans. But, my friends, take it from me. NEVER, buy a wiener dog.
Happy Passover and Happy Easter.