Chloë Comes Clean

 

Brother Stanley tries to bite Chloë’s head off.

All new cars come with that new car smell. In fact, you can buy deodorizer things that hang from rear-view mirrors that smell like new car smell. (Those things are yucky, way too strong, if you ask me.)

Well, when I arrived in Seattle I had New Puppy Smell. At first blush, you’d think it would be pretty rank: an 8-week compendium of poop, saliva, urine, and uneaten bits of  kibble. Au contraire; new puppy smell is a pleasant, gentle scent, non unlike a human baby (after a bath, of course).

No rubber ducky, just a lousy SU cup.

Unfortunately, as Heather noted upon returning from her business meeting last week, New Puppy Smell doesn’t last forever. And I have yet to see it in any auto supply store.

Apparently my NPS ended sometime while Heather was away. (Mike, needless to say, failed to notice.)

Thus I had my first bath. I started out in an empty bathtub, and then she filled it gradually with warm water. Wasn’t bad, as long as it stayed low. Then this big plastic cup splashes in; for some reason, I am not allowed to chew it.  What fun is that?  And what’s with this sudsy stuff?

Low-suds doggie shampoo won’t hurt delicate eyes!

I started to squirm. Heather had to call in Mike for distraction–i.e.,  treats. Once again, I have played my cards just right.

Soon enough, it was over. And I had to admit, Heather was right: I did smell a hell of a lot better. Until my brothers Frank and Stanley and I got together again, that is. Wait ’til you see that one; I’m editing it now. Suffice it to say that another bath may be in the offing.

Chloë: “I liked my bath, Heath!”

Chloë Answers Some FAQs

During a short lull in my social whirl, let me catch up with some of the e-mail and letters piling up in my inbox.

  

Q: I’ve never seen a dachshund with blue eyes before. Why are your eyes so blue?

A:  “Don’t it make my brown eyes blue?” Always loved that tune by Crystal Gayle! But my eyes aren’t really blue, they are brown. It was the flash on the camera made them blue. We don’t know why. Mike explained to me that he knows how to eliminate redeye in a photo, but doesn’t know squat about removing blue eye. That photo peering down at you from atop this page  was one of the first photos of me. Now, of course, there are dozens (maybe hundreds!)  of photos of me to choose from, so we could change that heading photo; that would give my distant readers (and there are many!) a more accurate representation of my regal countenance. But I just don’t know. We’re kind of attached to that surreal, Village of the Damned look. What do you think? 

Q: Are you really bald on the top of your ears? 

    

 

 

 

 

A: Come on, isn’t that silly? My ears are not bald, they’re topped with light brown fur that isn’t nearly as long as the fur around it. Heather thinks it’s starting to grow in, while Mike thinks I’ll have these doofy ears forever. The vet, of course, told me I need ear toupees. Eleven weeks old, and already doomed to the character roles. 

Q: I saw the photos of you and your brothers Frank and Stanley. You three are really all from the same litter? You don’t look anything alike! 

 

 A: That’s what everyone is saying, but it’s true. We’re just a small part of the endless mosaic of wirehaired dachshunddom, I guess. Remember, America is a melting pot, Canada is a mosaic. But I digress. Check out these photos of mom and pop to see where we get the different seeds of our wiredness.

My Mom, Banshee: Happy Mother’s Day!

William, my dear old Dad: A real champion, especially with the ladies.

Q: Are you coming to the East Coast this summer? 

 

 

 

 

 

A: The genorosity of my Eastern fans is overwhelming. Fans in Syracuse, New Jersey, Florida and even international fans in Ontario, Canada, have been clamoring for me to come east with Heather and Mike this summer. I am flattered and honored, but sadly I must decline. While I’m sure these guys don’t want to be away from me for even ONE SECOND, I decided it’s just too much schlepping around (to quote Mike). We would have to change planes, change cars, change where we sleep…just too many ch-ch-ch-changes, as my buddy Dave “Diamond Dog” Bowie would say. I’m into my routine. Maybe some other time, when Mike can drive me across. In the meantime, you’ll just have to come out to Seattle, or settle for this crumby blog.

 

Well, that’s about it for now. As you can see from this photo below, I’ve got some more serious business to attend to. But do keep those questions coming! 

Chloë Reunites with Her Brothers

(L to R) Frank, Stanley and Chloë stake out their territory.

Finally got together with my bros Frank and Stanley. As regular readers may recall, the boys and I found out we share the same animal hospital (Elliott Bay), although under the new Obama health care plan we have different primary care physicians. The guys live with Tiffany and Andrew over on Queen Anne Hill, the next neighorhood to our east.

Dachshunds unleashed somewhere in Seattle.

We met in the middle, at Magnolia Park on the south side of Magnolia, overlooking Elliott Bay. Typically hoity-toity Magnolia, it’s a very old school kind of park (after all, it’s part of the original Olmsted park plan for Seattle), with defined paths and lots of green lawn. It was a great spot for resuming my wrasslin’ matches with the guys. We didn’t even need to sniff each other’s butts to recognize each other immediately, and then the guys and ran around like banshees (that’s Mom’s name, after all!).

Frank pins Chloë on the tarmac.

We must have caused quite a noisy ruckus, however, because after we had been there about 45 minutes one of the park neighbors blew us in to 911. At least that’s what I assumed happened when a truck from Seattle Animal Control (the kind that looks like a small tank and is used to pick up road kill) quietly pulled up on the path nearby. The two officials inside promptly reminded us that even three wild and crazy, 11-week-old dachshund puppies are required to be on leashes. Since none of us has yet learned a damn thing about correct leash walking, it took us about 30 seconds or so to get wound up into one tangled mess. Those Animal Controllers stuck around for a while, just to make sure we were going to remain in 100 percent compliance, so what had already been a fun party broke up early. I didn’t even have a chance to share any biscuits with the boys, let alone a libation or two.

Chloë turns the tables on Frank.

Until those killjoys spoiled it, however, my homeys and I were having one hell of a time. Clearly, I have some long-held (well, from four weeks ago) issues with Frank (remember F for furry) and Stan (remember S for smooth) that have yet to be fully resolved. Just typical brother-sister things–who’s going to be the boss. Each of the guys already outweighs me by more than two pounds, but I’m a lot quicker than they are. In fact, it’s still pretty easy for me to kick Frank around the block (not only does Frankie look the most like Mom, but he’s a sensitive mama’s boy in more ways than one). But that Stash, well, he shoulda been a bulldog. Once he fully grows into those paws, he’ll be smashing me around like an NFL defensive end sacking a quarterback. That’s why I had to sneak up and bite his ass a few times, just so he gets the message that I can sting when I need to. He better not forget it, that’s all I’m saying.

Frank: It’s not my fault!

Chloë goes airborne to get Stanley’s nose.

It was great to see them again. I’m sure we’ll be getting together again…certainly at the graduation ceremony for our upcoming puppy kindergarten classes, if not before. No doubt who the valedictorian will be.