Home Invasion: a Bandit in the house

My kids have been asking for a dog for years. My husband has been very close to giving in many times. I have never been a dog owner, and never felt a need to start. Cat's are so easy, so independent, so clean and unobtrusive. Dogs. You have to walk them, pick up after them, keep them penned at night, or allow them to smother you while you sleep. They bark and jump and chew and generally disrupt. My husband is allergic to dogs. We're safe, I thought. It was the perfect excuse to the kids, and they understood it.

A few months ago, a mini Dachshund walked into my husband's office. He told me all about it. I knew then we were doomed. "...so small, so quiet, so cute..." he said. "...you'd love this dog. So adorable..." he said. And then came the research. Emails flooding in to my computer from his - how big they get, how smart they are, etc etc. And then he started talking to the kids about it. Told them how cute these dogs are. "If we ever got a dog, I'd want one of those," he'd say.

"If we ever get a dog..." opening the doors to doom. I heard that door open a mile away, and saw my kids watching it open too - that crack in the no-dog-cement-wall that I had so sturdily built. It was beginning to crumble before my eyes. Almost daily I could see the loosening on top of the wall, and the pile of dust and rubble growing.

Dinner time conversations began to revolve around Dachshunds and we all began to notice them everywhere. On every corner, in every magazine. My kids began taking Dachshund books out at the school library, bringing them home and showing me. One day in the car my daughter announced, "If we get a dog, I want a Dachshund and I'm going to name it Bean. Isn't that a perfect name? BEAN."

With rapid succession, we were at the point where we were referring to "the dog." No longer an unfullfillable dream, but now an expectation, a PLAN. I'd come home from work and the kids would be searching for breeders on the internet. Late at night my husband would do the same. He'd tell me there aren't any in our state that he could find, but they can be shipped. He even talked to a couple of breeders. It was too late for just 'playing along'. I had to make myself clear. You all want a dog? Fine. But it ISN'T MY DOG.

That became my motto. IT'S NOT MY DOG.

The research and the search continued. The kids offered to use their own money, or earn their own money to get a Dachshund. My husband continued to look for local breeders. My daughter kept referring to "Bean" as if it were already a member of the family. I kept saying IT'S NOT MY DOG. I refused to make any dog related decisions - where to get one, how much to pay for one, should we get this one or that one, where should it sleep, etc. NOT MY DOG.

I refused to make any of the necessary phone calls. NOT MY DOG. I told my family, "I'm not feeding the dog. I'm not walking the dog. I'm definitely not cleaning up after that dog. And, if my cat eats your dog, it's not my fault."

So, this past Sunday, we drove North to a breeder to pick up our dog. No, THEIR dog. She's 7 months old. A mini Dachshund, black and tan. She weighs about 7 pounds. She's incredibly quiet, snuggly and friendly. She's pretty well trained already and comes to her name - which is BANDIT.

She is NOT MY DOG.

She just happens to be sleeping on my lap right now. I just happened to have taken her to work today. Just purely by chance I've fed her, walked her, picked up after her, bathed her and snuggled her. Just by chance. I didn't mean to walk her to my favorite coffee shop and introduce her to everyone. It just happened. Oh, and that little coat I'm thinking of making for her? Well, that's just so my cat won't think she's a kitty treat and eat her by mistake.