Hey Lucky Dog
Fifteen years ago, a friend of mine had some mini wiener dogs for sale. At the time, my grandmother had been diagnosed with high blood pressure and research was showing that having a pet would lower blood pressure. I bought the dog; he was five weeks old and just nothing is cuter than a mini dachshund puppy. The man and I drove to the city to my mom’s house where she and my grandmother (the Golden Girls) lived. He was wrapped in a towel not more than 3 pounds when I handed him to my Mama Lou, but I should have known things would not go exactly as I thought. I told her it was her Christmas present, and I never told her that I paid anything for him. She was too tight for that. Now Mama Lou loved Lucky, but the real dog lover in the family is my mom, and before long Lucky was sleeping with her at night because Mama Lou was just too fanatically clean to have a dog in her bed. But not Mom. Every night he would bury himself either under her covers down to her feet or under a pillow near her head. He was so cold natured. It was winter, and we thought it would be good to put a sweater on him when he went outside to keep him from shivering in the cold. We squeezed him in to a too small sock. He looked like a stuffed wiener, and by the time we got the dang thing off of him that idea was thrown out the window.
Lucky lived a long and enviable life with two grannies, but last week he died in my mom’s arms.
We will miss you Lucky. You will not be able to be replaced (you ole philanderer).