We’re not sure how to do this. To be honest, we never thought we’d have to do this. Not for years, and years. And in those years the Dawlish dachshunds were going to have all kinds of adventures patrolling our garden, and the new cottage. They would walk in the ravine and dig up lots of sunlight for later and Augie Doggie was going to finally catch that squirrel.
Except Augie Doggie caught something in November. We felt incredibly stupid going to the vet about it because his primary symptoms were chronic sneezing and a sudden apathy for his three o’clock walk. Augie Doggie loved his three o’clock walk. He would trott into the hallway and stand there. If we were in the kitchen he put his head around the doorframe and looked expectant. And if I was upstairs he barked blue murder.
This was appropriate, Augie being a braw, blue dachshund.
And we would go out and catch squirrels (well Augie tried to, us girls weren’t fussed about the squirrel thing) and run around dachshund highways, and generally I was glad if my arm stayed in its socket.
And maybe later we would have the TV Cuddle and Buffy would wash him with the kind of obsessive-compulsiveness Catholics say hail Marys. We can say this having said our share of obsessive-compulsive Hail Marys. Mostly for sick dachshunds.
Anyway, the sneezing didn’t let up and neither did the not walking and it spawned a laundry list of other symptoms. It turns out, if you were wondering (we were not) there is no veterinary equivalent to House, MD. But the people we had were lovely and tried really bloody hard.
So did Augie. But it is hard to be a blue dachshund who chases squirrels when your magnificent belly shrinks and your appetite goes away and everything is wrong internally.
Still, we thought he would be okay right up until Monday, when they couldn’t run further tests because his little doxie blood pressure dropped mid-test. And the tests they did run came back with lots and lots and lots of clots in his little blue system.
So, now the Dawlish Dachshunds are singular. And there’s this squirrel that froze and is languishing on a snow mound near our house, and we feel bad for it, but mostly because we knew the loveliest blue Auge who would have had such fun eating his squirrel at last. And who would have been sad when no one let him eat it, but would have accepted cuddles as an alternative.
His nemesis was next door’s Archie and in no particular order he loved food, Buffy, cuddles, ravine walks and Buffy. And food. And more food.
He was, in fact, the very model of a dachshund major general, and he ate flowers in the garden both perennial and annual. But that isn’t actually Augie’s song. All our animals have one, and we rewrote lots for the Dachshund duo. But this is Augie’s.
No, Augie’s son was completely, utterly bonkers. As was he.
Vale, little blue Augie. The world should have been so lucky as to know you were in it. Here’s to sun, Fabulous Orange Ball, and finally catching that squirrel.
Chorister at Home 