Cold.
Bitter Cold.
That is what it has been in good ole Missouri for the past week or so. I'm sure it's colder elsewhere, but damn. When the temperature drops to this cold, the dogs quit going outside. That doesn't mean that I don't try to get them to go outside, it just means that they quit going to the door willingly. All of them.
Since the cold started, my days have been going something like this:
5:30 am : Brett gets out of bed to go to work. Dachshunds that might have been on Brett's side of bed quickly suction themselves to me for warmth. We shiver till Brett turns back on the heat (we turn it off at night)
8:00 am: I start waking up. The only good thing about being unemployed is that I don't usually need to wake up with an alarm clock. The dachshunds? They'll remain under the covers, thank you very much. They're not coming out for anything.
8:30 am: By this point I have showered and made myself decent for the world. I go back into the bedroom to check on status of dachshunds. They're still under the covers. I call them, and realize that if they had fingers, they would be pointing the middle on at me. Even the puppy. Traitor.
8:45 am: I call them again. Dogs wake up just long enough to wish, yet again, they had a middle finger. They then go back to sleep. Dyllan starts snoring to add insult to injury.
9:00 am: I have now been awake for an hour. I know they have to pee. They insist they don't. In a pure act of desperation I pull the covers off them. I'm met with blinking, disorientated, and angry dachshunds. They are all piled on top of each other in the center of the bed to maintain warmth. They call this strategy.
9:02 am: They see me reach for them and they scatter like bowling pins. They know what comes after 'getting out of bed.' They're having none of it.
9:10 am: I've collected all the dogs long enough to dress them in their fleece
Teckelklub sweaters. Now comes the real dilemma:
If I put dogs on the ground they will scatter and hide. They're good at hiding. I have found Zoe in the pantry once or twice. I only have two arms. Two arms will not hold 4 dachshunds. It's a fact of nature. If I take two dogs out and leave two on the bed, unsupervised, the two on the bed will plot when I'm away. Plotting usually entails one of three things. One, peeing when she's not looking. Two, pooping when she's not looking. Three, hiding.
9:13 am: I decide to attempt to herd them all to the door. At the same time.
9:14 am: All dachshunds are out of bed. They stretch, shake, shiver, and bark appropriately. I say 'Lets go potty,' and all hell breaks loose. Dyllan dives under the bed. Zoe and Bitsy make a run for it down the hallway. Neville is not quite quick enough to avoid being scooped up.
9:25 am: After much yelling, asking politely, threatening, and crying I've managed to get Dyllan out from under the bed. All dogs are now out of the bedroom. I close the door to make sure they can't re infiltrate it. Bitsy gives herself away by sneezing in the bathroom. I shoo her out and close the door. 3 dachshunds found, one to go.
9:32 am: Zoe is not in either spare bedroom. I've made a sweep of all her favorite hiding spots. I close the doors to limit her escape route.
9:45 am: I finally notice part of a fluffy tail sticking out from under the pillows on the couch. Zoe has wedged herself under them and is feigning temporary deafness. All of the dogs have sudden bouts of temporary hearing loss. The vet does not know what to make of this.
9:47 am: I have all dachshunds cornered in the entryway, door open, waiting for them to go outside. They're standing there looking at me like I suddenly sprouted another head. They obviously think that I'm not very bright. They're not going outside.
9:52 am: After much threatening (No FOOD...I Mean IT!), all dachshunds have run outside. Onto the door stoop. No further. I tell them to go potty. They stand, glare at me, and shiver. I consider, briefly, giving them away. I notice neighbors that are checking their mail giving me strange looks. 'Good puppys' I say....'Go Potty' I say....*or I'll skin you* I mumble. While smiling.
9:53 am: Shiver, shiver, shiver.
9:55 am: I open the screen door to go out onto the stoop to chase them into the grass. They run around me, back into the house....straight into their bed in front of the space heater. Laughing.
10:00 am: I give them their victory and start on my housework. I then find 2 random pees and 1 poop on my floor. I imagine dogs laughing again, and start to understand why people drink.
Would someone like to tell me why I decided to get dachshunds? Anyone? Why couldn't I have fell in love with Goldens? Silly, not that bright, will do anything for a cookie, Goldens?
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