So, I do, I have a dachshund. She is a black and tan short hair named Ginger, or Gigi. I got her when she was only 6 weeks old and I love her to pieces, despite her breath smelling of swamp. I brush her teeth, but she is due to go in and get them done at the vets…so that’s just something I live with every day.
Since I do not have kids, (please do not feel sorry for me, it’s a conscious decision), she is my baby. She knows it and she plays me like a red violin. She is so spoiled rotten…because of her ‘lack of height’ and my getting tired of listening to her cry every time she wants in bed, I put a step stool next to it so she can get in and out. Probably not the biggest, brightest or best idea I have ever had…
Now, before I go any further, let me just say, Ginger is very protective of me and the house. She is adamant that someone MUST be there to kill us if there is a knock at the door and she is bound and determined to make as much racket as she can and will protect me until she draws her last breath. However, if you show up carrying an insulated bag with pizza inside, not so much. Not only is she a big fan of the pizza delivery guy, she can smell him coming a mile away. Let’s just all just agree, pizza is her favorite food.
Unfortunately for me, Ginger feels compelled to bury her pizza in my bed until she is damn good and ready to eat it. I don’t know why or who taught her that. It certainly was not me, by any stretch of the imagination. But let me tell you, it is quite a surprise to crawl into bed and curl up, nice, cozy and warm and wake up with a slice of cold pepperoni pizza adhered to my leg. She looks at me with the guiltiest look when I confront her about anything and dives under the blankets to hide. I guess, it could be worse…at least she doesn’t catch mice.
Note to self: Move the steps away from the bed on pizza night!