Hello! It’s me.

Walk in the city.

The street is littered with junk.

Some of it tastes bad.

Hello! It’s me.

This is what it looks like when I am firmly planted in my “comfort zone”.

Granted, I get lots of comfort time, on a daily basis.

But in recent days, Mom and Dad elected to push me out of my comfort zone. They forced all sorts of craziness upon my gifted soul.

For instance, they took me to the vet.

That is my “dazed and confused” look. You should see all the things a vet can do to you. They take your temperature, for instance.  Here’s a multiple choice quiz regarding determination of body temperature.

How does the vet determine your body temperature?

1. A simple question … “what is your body temperature”? (I’d answer “17” if asked).
2. By putting a thermometer under your tongue.
3. By inserting a thermometer somewhere else.

If you guessed (3), you guessed right. It was like getting plugged into 1.21 gigawatts of fahrenheit-based diagnostics, if you know what I mean.

That’s when a syringe filled with foreign chemicals was inserted into my back and tender hind quarters. Why? Who knows?

Needless to say, I was a bit sore for a few days.

By the time I recovered, Mom and Dad decided that it was time to take my second and third ride on a ferry.

We spent the day doing chores. The best part was when I tried to join Dad when he ordered a pizza. I wanted to make sure he remembered to order breadsticks and an additional side of marinara sauce. #pizzapizza

Before I leave you for the day, I want to forward you a video of my latest indignity. I was forced to walk with a collar fastened to my neck. Worse, the collar was appended to a six foot leather leash. Have you ever been tethered to a leash? No? Well, goodie for you! I felt like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes, if I may be so bold. I’ll leave you with this video of the event … this is not what it feels like to be in your “comfort zone”, let me tell you!

Hello. It’s me!

I don’t know about you, but there’s really nothing better than chillin’ next to a hot fire.

I assume that all pups have ample access to propane generated warmth.

Routine is important. Mom and Dad have a daily routine called “making dinner”. I like to help. You never know when Mom will drop cabbage on the floor. You never know when Dad will accidentally flip a pan-fried portion of cod over his head, either.

Of course, the odds of a piece of pan-fried portion of cod falling on the floor are low, leaving me disappointed.

The last ten days have been fun. Workers have been installing beds on the north side of the house. I have had numerous opportunities to inspect their work. I’ll leave you with a video of a recent inspection. Stay tuned for more updates … I had a couple of adventures last week that must be shared!

If you saw a video of a dog running with men’s underwear in the last post, you were the recipient of Dad’s posting error. Visit http://dashthedachshund.com for the right video. It’s worth your time!

Hello. It’s me!

I realize that people want to save the planet … they don’t like those plastic garbage bags (I hear there are 1.3 trillion of ’em floating out in the middle of the Pacific if you need one).

But those old-school paper grocery bags? You can recycle ’em. Dad says to me, he says … “Dash, please take the bags out to the recycling bin.” And though I have yet to adhere to any semblance of obedience, when Dad tells me to protect the planet, I am first one the list to help out.

Hello. It’s me!

El Nino is the weather pattern that is bringing rain to California. It also means “the boy”. ‘Nuff said!

I like to bookend my day with moments of tranquil relaxation.

But that meaty, mid-section of every day? Ohhhhhh boy.

Take yesterday, for example. Dad is holding me on his left leg. He’s taking a work call on the phone with his right hand. And then, a worker waves outside the window. Given that we’re having an El Nino winter (although November and December were the wettest months I can remember in my entire life) where it is nice and dry, why not do some landscaping?!

Landscaper:  Do you mind if we fire up the chain saw at 9:00am?

Dad: Sure, let ‘er rip!

Landscaper: Thanks!

Dad sets me down in my pen, and continues his phone call.

The Landscaper fires up the chain saw.

I immediately fire up my bladder.

Dad notices bladder issues in the pen while on the phone.

So that was it for yesterday’s “clean sheet”. Dad gives me credit for a clean sheet every day when I meet my potty training expectations. He got the term from the English Premier League. He treats me like the goalkeeper at Aston Villa, given that I’ve only had one clean sheet in nine days.

Immediately after the great chain saw incident of 2016, I was back in Dad’s arms.

The conversation changed this morning.

Landscaper: Do you mind if I fire up the jack hammer at 9:00am?

Dad: Of course, let ‘er rip!

This time, no problems whatsoever. I’m a quick learner. And even though a sea plane terrified me while helping Dad take down Christmas lights this afternoon, I like to think the phrase “It Gets Better” applies to me, too.

And it does get better. There’s a lot of stuff to explore, like Christmas decorations.

Mom even did laundry yesterday. Mom asked me to check out a load of wet clothes she pulled out of the washing machine. I decided to pull a pair of Dad’s underwear out of the laundry basket. (click on the picture if you cannot see the video and you’ll be taken to the website).

It may be a drier-than-average January here in El Nino country … but the pair of underwear I dragged around the house was wetter-than-average, no two ways around it.

Hello. It’s me!

Thought you might like to see my digs … check out the view from my pen.

Two things come to mind.

1. The Salish Sea is pretty big.
2. I’m pretty small.

Now, I’ll be honest. I don’t appreciate the power converter next to my pen. I’ve tried to bite it a couple hundred times, but Dad says it is possible that 1.21 gigawatts will pulse through my fragile frame if I bite too hard.

Did you see what is in my mouth? My pen is stocked with delicious twigs!

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.