The Sausage Likes Corndogs

I am not too proud to admit that one of the big reasons I am eagerly anticipating our move (besides the highly lickable floors) are these steps right here.

As much as J and I try to pretend that it isn't happening and isn't true our old girl is getting . .well. . .old. And dachshunds are not renowned for their amazing durability. Stairs are the sworn enemy of Darla (well stairs, squirrels and phantom burglars) and our current house has a staircase she runs up and down a dozen times a day.

We have been fortunate, she has never had a major injury to her back. But I think that is more luck than stunning conditioning on her part. There are times when I think she is so tough and might be hurt and there are times I think she is a big drama queen and is faking pain for attention. That is the hard things about dogs, it is very difficult to know if they are pulling a Ferris Bueller on you so they can have a day of being carried around and fed pieces of corndogs. I love my little sausage and she needs to be with me, taking up the entire goddamn bed for years and years to come.

Because a new house isn't a home without this face.