Adventures with Suzie

The problem with dogs is that they don’t live as long as we do. They come into your life and win your heart with their unconditional love.  They don’t get mad at you, or resentful. They don’t judge you or boss you around (most of the time). They are onboard with anything you want to do, wherever you want to take them. No matter what, they love you. Then you watch your canine friend’s body slowly failing, and you face the cruel responsibility of ending their suffering.

Today I held Suzie in my arms as we said goodbye to the little dachshund with a big personality. She pushed her nose under my arm as she always has to calm her fear of the vet one last time, and answered us with her little grunts as we let her go.

Suzie was a scrappy red head with a mysterious past. A lady never tells her age and we never really knew hers—12 years old? We were her fifth family. She came to us in a roundabout way that I detailed in a blog post: Hot Dog! http://starklooseends.blogspot.com/2010/06/hot-dog.html. She was a bit of a high maintenance diva who was notorious in our house for getting herself into situations that made us scratch our heads.

One thing that consistently got her in trouble was her appetite. If you were in the kitchen, she was under your feet praying for food to drop from above. She was so quick, food wouldn’t even touch the ground before she was chomping on it—meat, carrots, whatever you were working with.

Describing her as “not a picky eater” is an understatement. One day I discovered a half-eaten raw potato that she dragged from the pantry. Another time she ate most of a book. We asked her, “Really Suzie? We don’t feed you enough?” She just wagged her tail.

She was hospitalized twice for poisoning herself. Once for eating chocolate covered coffee beans in a bowl on a table. Once for unzipping the zippers on a backpack, chewing through the childproof bottles, and scarfing down headache medications.

She had no qualms about pushing her way in to eat our big dogs’ food. She cowed 85-100 pound dogs into surrendering their kibble. Yet, as brave, or brazen as she was with them, she was terrified of the vacuum cleaner.

Suzie had no idea that she was a little dog, and believed she was capable of doing big things. Because of the way they’re built, dachshunds are prone to back problems. She would insist on sitting up on the couch with us playing the role of a lapdog, but then also be just as insistent about jumping down. She had no patience to wait for us to carry her down. That resulted in her breaking her front leg, minutes after we boarded a plane for Milan, Italy.

Would you like to sign my cast?

Our son had to take her to the vet, and then dog-sit her confining her to a playpen with a pink cast on her leg. She wasn’t happy about that.  For that matter, neither was our son.

Another time while my husband was walking her and our German Shepherd/Lab mix dog she spotted a rabbit, yanked the leash out of my husband’s hand and gave chase through the woods and blackberry bushes.

Suzie, John and T-Bone walking in the park.

True to her hound dog roots, she was baying the whole time. The only way we got her back was for my son to get his car and rev the engine near the park. She knew the sound of his car and came to it, little legs pumping and ears flying in the wind trailing her leash behind her.

Dachshunds have a reputation for being stubborn, but I don’t think it is stubbornness. They are ruled by their noses and their ears turn off if they are on the scent of something—like a rabbit.

Another dachshund trait that held true for Suzie was burrowing. She liked to sleep totally covered. She would toss her blanket up in the air with her nose to burrow under it to sleep. If you let her into bed with you, she would burrow under the covers to sleep down by your feet.

Dachshunds also like to get into tight spaces. They were bred to tunnel into underground dens to catch badgers. Once they got the badger in their teeth, their owner would get them and the badger out by pulling the dachshund’s tail. They are tough and fierce, and that’s where their stubbornness to hold onto a mean badger was a positive trait.

One night we let Suzie out into our wooded backyard. When we called her, she didn’t come in. That wasn’t unusual. The problem when Suzie disappeared was that her first owner was abusive. She must’ve been punished for not coming when called. Sometimes when you called her, she thought she was in trouble and would get very quiet and hide. Eventually she would come out.

After awhile though, she still hadn’t come to the door. We started looking for her. Maybe she’d gotten through the fence. She’d done that a few times. If she’d found a mole, she’d dig with all four paws and her mouth like a miniature backhoe with legs. I was annoyed. It wasn’t easy getting over a 6-foot fence to get her back. But we couldn’t see her in the neighbors’ yard.

We walked the neighborhood with flashlights calling her and shaking her treat jar, and then got in cars to search for her. Hours passed. Before we went to bed we decided to look in the backyard one more time.

We have an old “shed” with four sides and a tarp for a roof. There was firewood stacked along the inside of one of the walls. John walked near the shed calling her name and heard a tiny whimper. He went inside the shed and at the bottom of the 3’ woodpile, he saw Suzie’s tail just barely poking out. She was so relieved and happy when he pulled her out by her tail.

We think she was going after a rat and got trapped. I don’t think she would’ve survived the night because the temperature got down below freezing that night. The next day the shed was cleaned out. From then on, Suzie was supervised when we let her out.

As tough as she was, Suzie had her girlie side.  She got cold easily. She knew where all the heating vents in the house were and snuggled up to them if there wasn’t a human available. We bought her sweaters and coats to keep her warm.

She always got excited about her new outfits, and would sashay like a super model to show them off. People got huge grins on their faces watching her strut her stuff through the neighborhood in her pink down jacket with fur-lined hood.

Her wardrobe included several Halloween costumes that also cheered people up.

She was most definitely a morning doxie and would start the day off doing what came to be known as “the happy dance,” when we woke up. She was simply happy to be alive and starting a new day. The happy dance was usually followed by a good wiggly back rub on the carpet while I brushed my teeth.

She hated the rain and would hug the dry ground under the eaves of the house when you let her out. But she loved the beach, and didn’t mind getting her paws wet there.

Suzie exploring the beach on Lummi Island. 

She was a great little traveler and companion on road trips.

When our two new young dogs joined the pack, she easily stepped into the role of alpha dog. They were at least twice as tall as she was, but if they started getting too wild, the old lady of the house would leap (watching a dachshund leap is hilarious) at them and try to nip them. “Knock it off you whippersnappers!” They listened to the grand dame and either calmed down, or took their craziness elsewhere.

Suzie’s life had a rough start. She got shuffled through four other owners: the abusive one; the elderly lady who taught her how to walk beautifully on a leash, but had to give her up when she moved into a nursing home; the family with the other dachshund that she didn’t get along with and misinterpreted her submissive peeing as obstinance; and the young lady who loved her but didn’t keep her.

Most of Suzie’s life was spent with us. The first time I went to walk her it didn’t go well. She tried to bite me. But Suzie and I had something in common. I’m stubborn too and eventually persisted until she loved me.

The last few years she had Cushing’s Disease and was on medication for it. Recently, she had seven teeth removed, but ultimately, her kidneys were failing. She fought through most of her health problems like a champ. She was amazingly adaptable and resilient, a good sport who took changes in stride. She loved living with us where she learned how to be part of a pack and got along with two cats as well.

Kona and Suzie snoozing.

Watson and Suzie napping.

Suzie checking out the food bowls between Jake and Watson.

Suzie welcoming Pippin when he was a kitten.

I will miss her quirky personality, her bright eyes looking up to me, her unquestioning optimism that there could be treats at anytime, and her warm wiener body snuggled up against my leg while I write on my laptop or watch TV.

Kona checking up on her buddy Suzie.

Thank you Suzie, adventures with you were epic! You made our lives interesting!

Laura Keolanui Stark can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com

Welcome to Palouse, Washington

People say that everything happens for a reason. I’m not totally convinced. There’s a lady in Palouse, Washington who is probably still scratching her head about a random, unexpected visit from two strangers.

Sometime during fall semester, Johnny mentioned that he’d spotted a quilt shop in the small town of Palouse. One of the requirements for a class he was taking was community service. He chose to volunteer at an elementary school there. 

During our phone call, he told me about his adventures working with little ones on Math night. He described what a challenge it was explaining to a first grader how a Sudoku puzzle worked. He laughed about two brothers and their competitive sibling spirit. He said on the way to the school, he’d driven by a quilt shop, and promised to take me there the next time I visited him at WSU in Pullman.

The unique hills of the Palouse, eastern Washi

So, on my last visit, Johnny drove me over 15 miles of rolling wheat fields that still had patches of snow on them, to the tiny town of Palouse, population 966. 

We drove right down Main Street and parked across the street from the shop. But, when we got up to the front door of Small Towne Quilts, and peered inside, it was dark and empty. Taped to the door was a sign saying they’d moved to W. Illinois Street. No problem. It was a small town. How hard could it be to find?

Main Street, Palouse, Washington

Pretty hard. We made several passes through town, around a grid of blocks, up and down the hills, and past the elementary school where Johnny had volunteered. I waved to school kids and their bus driver (hey, they started it!), and wound up in a neighborhood before we decided to return to the shop and get the phone number.

Then we drove back to where we thought the quilt shop should be. We parked in front of a big, old house with the right address, but it had no quilt shop sign. It was in a residential neighborhood, and there were no cars in front of it. It didn’t even look like anyone was home.

Johnny dialed the number on his cell, and as soon as it started ringing, passed it to me like a hot potato. A lady answered as I fumbled with the phone. I told her we were looking for the Small Towne Quilts shop.

She asked, “Are you in front of a house with red gables? Am I looking at you?”

How do you answer that? I told her we’d walk up to the front door.

Apparently, she had been looking at us. She opened the door and it was like being at home. A dachshund ran right at us, and started barking furiously. The lady ignored her, and walked us inside. The dachshund quieted down when I told her to hush. She was a miniature; “our” doxie, Suzie is a regular one, but they sure had similar personalities—a little slow to warm up on first meetings. One big difference though, was that this one, named Alice, had blue eyes!

The shop owner, Bev, explained that she’d closed her shop so she could focus on the long arm quilting part of her business. She led us through her house into her studio where several sewing machines lined an outer wall full of windows that looked out onto the back yard. A long arm quilting machine was the centerpiece of the room. She told me that she hadn’t set up her fabrics yet, it was all upstairs. I think if I had asked, she would’ve taken us up there, but I felt like we’d already been intrusive enough.

We had a friendly chat about quilting, and inheriting dachshunds from college-bound kids. Her son asked her to take care of Alice while he went to WSU. He’d recently told her that he wanted “his” dog back. She told him that she didn’t think it was going to happen.

As we talked, Alice would run up, and gently place a hacky sack on top of Bev’s foot. Bev would flick it into the dining room or down the hall, and Alice would tear off as fast as her short, little legs could carry her to fetch it. Great idea! Although, I’m not sure it would work with our two dogs. T-Bone and Suzie already look like a double-decker bus when they start running together, and I’m always worried Suzie will get trampled.

Bev got a kick out of Johnny finding her shop for me. I told her he’d been trained to spot quilt shops on all those Shop Hops I’d dragged him on while he was growing up. She invited me back the next time I was in Pullman, gave me her business card, and told me to check out her website.

Welcome to small town America, where people are friendly even when total strangers barge in unannounced. Bev is probably still wondering what that was all about.

Laura Keolanui Stark will continue to make random surprise visits to anyone associated with quilting, so watch out! If you want to see Alice the blue-eyed dachshund, she’s on Bev’s website: www.smalltownequilts.com

Hot Dog!

Back in January, after a near-miss dachshund adoption, I promised that I’d write more about how I got partial custody of Suzie, a sassy, red dachshund. Here’s the story.

               I first met Suzie at her owner’s graduation party. She belongs to Sarah, my son’s girlfriend. Suzie is as cute as is legally allowed.  She was very confident, and as I mentioned before, very cute.

               When Sarah started going to WSU in Pullman, the trouble with Suzie began. Sarah’s mom told me that she was talking to Sarah about giving Suzie away because she was working long hours, and Suzie was spending that time locked up in the laundry room, depressed and lonely.

               Later that night, I talked to Sarah about it. Understandably upset, she said that her grandmother already had a family in mind.

               She told me about Suzie’s history, and how she had gotten Suzie. At the ripe old age of one and a half, Suzie had already had four owners. She’d been removed from an abusive home, and adopted by an elderly lady. When the lady had to move into a nursing home, she gave Suzie to a family that had another dachshund. Suzie did not play well with the other doxie, so they wanted to get rid of her. One of Sarah’s friends told her about Suzie, and Sarah, who’d always wanted a dachshund convinced her mother to let her have Suzie. Now, Suzie was almost three and on the verge of be given to a fifth family.

The Suzie situation weighed heavily on me that night. I awoke the next day, with a brilliant idea. Since I worked out every weekday at a gym five minutes from Sarah’s house, I could just pop over afterwards and take Suzie for a walk. 

She convinced her mom that I’d decided this of my own free will. We worked out the details of how I’d get into the laundry room.  Sarah and Johnny left for Pullman. John shook his head at my “meddling.”

The following Monday, I went to Zumba. One hour of Zumba burns 600-800 calories, so whenever I’m done, I’m hungry enough to eat my own hand. I decided I’d pick up lunch at McDonald’s, and eat it at Sarah’s house while keeping Suzie company, then take her for a walk. Starving, I ordered a Big Mac, then drove over to visit Suzie.

I punched the code into the garage door keypad to get in, then opened the laundry room door, and greeted Suzie. She ignored me, and bolted out onto the front lawn. Then she looked up at me as an afterthought, and started barking furiously, charging at me as if she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to guard the house. I tried to get her back into the house, but she wasn’t going for it. When I reached down to grab her collar, she tried to bite me. I was quick enough to move my hand out of the way just in time. This wasn’t exactly going as planned.

At this point, a concerned neighbor came out. I explained over Suzie’s nonstop barking, that I was Sarah’s boyfriend’s mother, “You know, the dark-haired guy with the loud, green Honda? That’s my son.” They were away at college. I’d come to walk Suzie. It was such a ludicrous story, she believed me. Then she went back into her house, leaving me to figure out how to get Suzie back into hers.

Calling Suzie into the garage didn’t work, and I wasn’t about to try grabbing her collar again. In a light-bulb moment, I tore off a piece of my Big Mac and threw it into the garage. When she went for it, I hit the button and closed the garage door. One more strategically thrown chunk of Big Mac, and she was back in the laundry room.

The next day, I was not looking forward to visiting her, but if I couldn’t get her to cooperate, her days were numbered. I armed myself with doggie treats, and another Big Mac. I also made sure I closed the garage door before I opened the laundry room door.

This time Suzie remembered me. She let me put her leash on her, and we actually had a very nice walk through the neighborhood. She stayed right with me, and was very well-mannered.

As the weeks went by, she tolerated me. I bought her a KONG and hid treats in it to give her something to do until Gerri got home from work. One time I opened the laundry room door, and thought she was gone, but she had burrowed totally under her blanket. Another one of her quirks was that she hated the rain. If it was raining, she’d balk, then insist on staying under the eaves of the house and skip the walk. In time, she started greeting me with a wagging tail and friendly face.  One day after I left, I heard her howling. That was when I knew she’d finally accepted me into her doggy heart.

Eventually, we figured out it would just be easier if Suzie just stayed at our house while Sarah was at school. Two years later, she has adjusted amazingly well to living in two homes, this one with another dog and two cats. As long as she has her KONG, she’s a happy hot dog. She wakes up each morning and does what we call “the happy dance” around our feet. She spends her days perched on the couch at the front window watching the world go by and “commenting” loudly. She loves sunning herself out on the deck. John takes her and T-Bone out for daily walks through the woods. She is snuggled up next to me in the recliner as I write this, a little dog with a big dog personality, the cutest, vicious little thing ever!

Laura Keolanui Stark has been cured of her case of “wiener dog envy.” You can reach her at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.