I said thanks. Now turn on the fire.
A rare social moment
The lesser dogs of the house are nagging me to tell my story but I put it all behind me years ago. One more time, but this is it. And only because I want to, not because they asked me to.
My name is Holly but for some reason they call me “Balls”. You will refer to me Holly. I’m the leader of the Frankie, Robin and Duchess pack. Some of the rescued dogs thank the rescue for saving them, but they were really not in any danger. I, however, had a life of pure hell and was saved from a painful death in a gas chamber (aka an old oil barrel) with only hours to spare.
I was bred and abused in my first ‘home’. I still have huge scars and a fused spine from an incident that I will not speak about. I had just given birth to another litter of puppies when I was dumped in a rural pound. My pups weren’t old enough to be weaned but I hear the smaller they are when you sell them, the more money they bring in. From that day on I swore I would never be used again.
As a dog, and blissfully unaware of my mortality, I didn’t fear for my life in the pound but it smelled like sick and terror and my cage was cold and sterile. The people were nice enough but I knew it was a bad place. I now understand that the inmates have only 3 days to find a home and I was running out of time. Fortunately, the shelter people reached out to rescue groups and even though I was in the US, the Canadian Dachshund Rescue agreed to save me and arranged a long transport to get me to their igloo in Ontario.
I was pretty young back then, and my motto was “bite first, ask questions later”. Humans proved to be unreliable, irresponsible, immoral, and pretty much a miserable self-righteous species. Fortunately, my foster family pretty much left me alone and my views softened a bit. I rested comfortably under a blanket except when it was time to eat and thought maybe they’re not ALL so bad. I was spayed (thank goodness) and they removed half of my teeth. The teeth were rotten and I didn’t even know I was in pain until they were gone. It was amazing to have humans actually looking after me instead of neglecting me and selling my babies.
One day, Frankie and my people came to visit. Frankie’s brother had just died and since he’s a wimp, he needed a leader to follow. I set him straight right away. Let’s just say it wasn’t love at first sight. I knew that yet again I wasn’t in control of my destiny so when I heard the people say they were adopting me, I saw an opportunity and took off running. Better safe than sorry, you know. Fortunately, I was caught and stuck in a car and my new life began.
I let the people know how things were going to go down. I was the boss and if they stepped out of line, they’d feel my teeth. I still thought that maybe I’d be better off on my own because humans are so iffy so I was always looking for a way out. They learned quickly and in time I was able to retire my teeth and I was able to appreciate what I had. I even started liking Frankie. These days I just have to yell at them to get what I want. One good “WOO!” is all it takes. Up. Down. Out. In. Food. Attention. Walk. Fire. Bed.
I attended many CDR events over the past 7 years but these days I’m too old to enjoy that kind of thing. I like the idea of a day at a show getting treats and being admired, but everything hurts the next day. I’ve let the young annoying dog take my place.
The rescue saved my life but don’t think I’ll be outwardly thankful forever. Inside, I count my blessings and shed tears for the dogs that rescue can’t save.
