Have I mentioned that I am really fast?

I mean, that’s ridiculous, unfettered, unbridled speed – all caught on camera. That’s what I do every time I come in from performing my duties. It’s my little way of greeting the world.

There are other ways to greet the world – one could waltz around the house with fuzz appended to your face.

But that’s not the big story of the day. No. Not by a long shot.

What I am about to explain to you is a simple yet entertaining story of gravity, chemistry, and physics.

See, yesterday, I barrel rolled my way to a new “potty perfection” record … more than twenty-four continuous hours without pottying in the house. I know, that’s impressive!

Then Dad gets greedy. At about 6:00pm yesterday, without any conceivable ability to recognize a pending crisis, Dad utters this sentence.

• “Dash drank more water today than in the five prior days he has been with us … combined. What’s up with that?“

Well, any bumbletwit who has ever spent time with a puppy knows that you regulate fluid intake. It’s just common sense.

About an hour later, Dad utters this sentence.

• “Dash is whining. Why is he whining? I just took him out fifty minutes ago.“

Thirty seconds later, gravity and chemistry and physics took over. My record, my “personal best” to use the parlance of the day, had been established.

Let’s fast forward another fifty minutes into the future. Once again, it was Dad who offered prescient commentary:

• “Dash is pacing back and forth. Why is he doing that? Is he going to go potty again?“

The answer … YES!

Somewhere in the neighborhood of eleven gallons of ice cold water flowed through my body … most of it inappropriately dispensed into my play pen. Like an ancient Roman fountain, my cup overfloweth last night.

Adele once said, “Hello. It’s me”. So did Todd Rundgren. Add Dash to the list.

I’m a puppy, born on October 20, 2015. A shaded cream mini long-haired dachshund.

Like many youngsters, I was purchased for a fair and commensurate price, because I am thoroughly adorable and in time, likely to be obedient to my new family.

I am an athletic individual. Just look at what I do to this pint-sized tennis ball.

My name was Rook, and that was a great name, make no mistake. My breeder is wonderful, kind, and creative. But recent video evidence clearly indicates that my inherent raw athleticism cannot be denied. That’s why I am going by the moniker of … “Dash”. I’m lightning quick, folks.

See the snap below? That’s my Mom and family. I am the one with the green collar.

And here’s my Dad … seems like everybody gets a participation ribbon these days. Oh. Wait. He has actually accomplished great things.

I’ve been with my adopted family for four days now. My time alternates between restful slumber and intermittent bursts of mania-fueled biting. Today alone, I pulled my playpen across the room when Mom left, dumping water and food all over the place. Sometimes, you have to take a stand.

And I’m going to be honest with you for a moment. My adopted family are nice, but they are difficult to train. I need to go to the bathroom every three hours, give-or-take. Training them to meet my needs requires a lot of energy. They make mistakes. They’re human, of course. What else can you expect from them?

I think I’ll stop here for now. How ’bout I send you updates about my life from time to time? Hourly updates? Might be too much. Monthly updates? Not nearly enough! Somewhere in-between, let’s begin our journey together.