A Dachshund Morning Greeting – Rest Less

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This morning, as the dawn began, I rolled over in bed to look out of the window and see the first shards of light filtering through the shutters. Thin, fluid lines of rose pink and tepid orange are splashed across the opposite wall, like looking at the sun through stained glass, breaching the darkness. Somewhere, down in the bowels of the duvet, something stirs. They are like heat-seeking missiles in that first moment that my eyes flutter open. They know!

It starts with a gentle rumble from Bear, pushed to the side by Willow, as she begins, like a stealth bomber, to make her way up the bed, over my chest to my head, where her assault begins. Not content with just a frantic washing of my eyelids and nose, she develops her attack into stretching her whole tummy across my face and mouth as her little Madeline-like paws scrabble around in mid-air.

Her purpose, apart from making herself felt, is to get as close to me as she possibly can, whilst enjoying the heat of my breath. Whilst this is going on and I’m struggling not to be suffocated, Bear has decided to get in on the act. Like a small Rhino, he ploughs across my limbs, bouncing up my chest to share the face licking, his freezing cold, very wet nose poking into any available orifice.

Needless to say, once this onslaught has begun, it’s generally pointless trying to resist. Although there are exceptions.

Occasionally, they get their timings wrong and try to force me out of bed early – usually Bear, tummy constantly rumbling, who half-heartedly comes mumbling up, testing the water. If I’m quick and can stop him at chest height, I can say a firm “No!” whilst at the same time hoiking him around his middle to pull him into the spooning position. Here, he will settle down for a whole half hour, while I cuddle him and gently rub his soft, rounded tummy.

Living with tiny Dachshunds with enormous personalities is never dull. It’s so, so different to my Shiba, who very definitely rationed cuddles and confined tummy rubs to the darkness as if to cover their lapse of dignity. Don’t get me wrong, Arthur, in particular, definitely had his own way of demonstrating his love for me. He never allowed me to be ill or sick without either putting his head on my back whilst my head was down the toilet, or lying along my flank to share his body heat if I was running a fever.

He would bring me my shoes and slippers on going out or coming in, find my glasses for me when I lost them or sit on my feet, leaning into me. He was protective and very attentive during our conversations, and had the most extensive vocabulary of any dog I have ever owned. People were often amazed by his responses, stopping to talk to me about him, as he proved he understood my requests. But do you snuggle up with a Shiba Inu? No, you do not, the most associated phrase for them being “Don’t touch me!”

Ila was just hilarious, never failing to make me laugh daily. Was she more affectionate? I suppose so, in her own way. Both dogs were very, very friendly with people outside the home, enjoying a chin tickle, but the idea of them getting into bed with you (unless I was ill) just didn’t happen, not least because of their thick, double coats, making them far too hot.

Of course, as I’ve stated, this is not my first foray into Dachshund land, seeing the world as they see it. My very first one that wasn’t a family pet was a standard black and tan sausage dog. He came from Battersea Dogs Home for seven shillings and sixpence and lived until his twenty-first year. Henry was sweet-natured, quiet (very unlike these two), incredibly obedient (erm, again, not exactly like these two), and was a snuggle bunny, always on your lap if you settled down or was sleeping in bed. He understood the rules around personal space, which is completely different to these two; in particular, Willow.

Once she has stopped barking at you and declared you a friend, everybody is fair game for being ‘Willowed’. This involves her launching at you, climbing up your person to the highest point, often inside your clothing and then, as you struggle to breathe, frantically licking you whilst also rubbing her ears, face and chin – with some considerable force – against your face. If you’ve got a beard, you’re in real trouble as she tries to literally weave her way into it, all the time scrabbling at you with those little paws, her tail like a propeller.

A close friend, having been Willowed, said just this week that she was going to report her to HR. She felt it was necessary for Willow to do the ‘personal space’ course. I pointed out that I didn’t think it would be effective, as by the end of the course, she’d have rewritten the rules to suit herself. This is Willow we are talking about, a tiny black and tan force of nature that will not be circumvented when it comes to a ‘Willowing’. Thankfully, most people find it either funny or endearing, particularly as they know their past and how this behaviour comes not just from their ‘friendliness’ but from their deep-rooted insecurities, their previous home being abusive.

With little Bear, he has a whole host of facial expressions which leave you in no doubt as
to what exactly he’s thinking. He is also very funny and can greet those that he’s extremely fond of with an abundance of kisses and ear-splitting, high-pitched yipping (and he also has a par chant for a beard). Happily for them, the two men in their lives both have beards and are both incredibly tolerant of small Dachshund beard assaults.

Anyway, back to this morning. Realising I’d given off too many signals of my wakefulness, an extra half hour wasn’t on, and so I prepared for the ‘good morning!’ rituals.

Two tiny, smiling faces with their baked bean eyebrows raised, bounced paw to paw on my chest, tongues going nineteen to the dozen, as I try to deflect them. As they make me laugh, I have to be careful I don’t get a tongue in my mouth (ugh!), and the key is to sit up as quickly as possible to try to control the situation.

“Okay,” I say, loudly. “Let’s get uppy puppies and have breakfast!” Which means they
instantly jostle with each other to reach the steps at the foot of the bed, and once down,
charge off down the hall. I’m not far behind, grinning from ear to ear, the sun is calling
us all. My dachshunds are happy, and my morning has begun.

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