One of the conditions of Old Spouse allowing us to get another dog a few years back was that whatever it was; it had to pee standing up. He was tired of being surrounded by females in his domain: at the rear were Grandy and her two lady cats (there was Pops, her Maltese poodle, but he was a flaming queer) in the house he had to contend with me, the Bunn and Lulubelle Who Is Not A Staffie. By happy co-inky-dink; OB’s next school newsletter carried an advertisement announcing that three male Dachshund puppies were seeking humans to dominate. We went along and let them look us over and have a good sniff to establish our suitability and we were duly chosen by the littlest one, whom we named Fritzl Of Baasch; the Baasch bit being in honour of his late human, the great photographer Peter Baasch who had passed away shortly after Fritzl’s birth.
Needless to say, Fritzl soon became OLAM (Our Lord And Master) and was known and loved by the entire neighbourhood. Original Bunn was his devoted slave and he adored her in equal measure. When she set off for school in the morning he would set up the most mournful racket, I’m sure the Next-Doors suspected us of hacking at his ears with nail clippers.
Eventually, as an adolescent, he got wise to the fact that OB’s school is only four houses away from his own garden and, being of a breed genetically programmed to tunnel, found that he could very easy sneak through four backyards at great speed and land up in the schoolyard in time for the lunch bell and a host of fans ever ready with lunchbox tidbits.
Although Lulubelle (spayed and rather matronly in her ways) tolerated Fritzl with good grace and eventually capitulated to his charms like the rest of us; we slowly became aware of a problem: our little Kraut was uncommonly amorous. Also, his equipment seemed to be of unnaturally large proportions; causing his back legs to grow bandy. Poor Lulu was leered at and constant attempts at thrusting and pushing left her exhausted. He would simply go at it for hours on end.
I mentioned to Old Spouse that perhaps we should ring up Pete The Vet and book Fritzl in to have The Operation. The blood drained from OS’s face and, before I knew it, he’d taken Fritzl off to the safety of the local for a beer. The bar lady told me that my husband was rather more bellicose than usual, muttering about the cruelty of women.
Lulu and Fritzl were going to The Royal Canine Hotel for the December holidays. I feared that twenty one days of non-stop rumpy-pumpy would leave them both raving lunatics.
The Operation was booked and off he went. He was a bit bemused for a few days, but soon recovered.
His libido appears to not have been affected at all!