Tracing My Family Tree (Dogwood, of course)

Dixie at rest under the family tree

Sipping on a tall glass of OJ while reminiscing about the dogs that have shared my life.  Join me on this trip down the memory lane, then take one of your own.  

I grew up with dachshunds.  My 78 year old mother has one to this day.  Two wieners ago, she proclaimed there would be no more.  Dachsies are renowned for their stubbornness, voracious appetites, and the ability to burrow an 18 hole miniature golf course out back in a single afternoon.  Hardly a low maintenance breed.

Hans, or “Hanzie” was the dog of my childhood.  There are pictures in the family photo album of me curled up in his wicker basket bed for an afternoon siesta.  Hanzie was tolerant of probes by a curious preschooler and always willing to play the villain when I donned my Superman cape.  Hanzie was my first encounter with death.  I think I was 10.  He taught me that those we love will always be with us as long as we remember them.

Hildegard, of “Hildy” came next.  She was the dog of my youth.  Hildy had the physique of a summer sausage and battled the bulge throughout her life.  Girth mattered not, however, when Mrs. Parmenter next door emerged with a soup bone.  Hildy would have challenged even the most streamlined wiener in a 50 yard dash if Mrs. P was at the finish line.  Her tail spun like a helicopter blade as she urinated a small pond on the patio at the mere appearance of our neighbor.  I confess that I thankfully did not have that effect on Hildy.  Hildy was always there during the many adolescent storms that rolled in and out.  Hildy taught me the unbridled joy dogs experience over the simplest of pleasures.

Missy, or “Mini” followed Hildy.  I was in college and living away from home through much of her life.  Missy was the diminutive clown that was likely a lizard in a previous life.  Picking her up meant enduring a tongue that probed every facial orifice that presented itself.  Ear wax — a runny nose?  No problem.  Sadly, Missy’s life was cut short by a variety of ailments.  Still, her affections comforted by parents during a painful divorce.  No doubt her antics kept things light when a bit of laughter was needed.

Time to pull over at the memory lane rest stop.  Next come the dogs of my adult years — Princess, Maggie, and of course, Dixie.  Until then, close your eyes, smile, and remember.  The lessons learned from the dogs of our past keep us in relationship with the dogs of our present.

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