The little dachshund has fallen in love with a
rabbit.
Having been hoarded for the first four years of
his life, play isn’t second or even third nature to him. Since I’ve had him, I’ve tried tennis balls
and rubber bones and rope pulls and squeaky mice, even a cat toy or two but he’s never been even mildly curious. We don’t fetch, we don’t chase, tennis balls
leave him cold and we don’t even play tug of war with an old sock. It’s hasn’t been something I’ve worried much
about but it has always made me a little sad that no one ever taught him to play – it just doesn’t feel natural to me
– so every now and again when there’s a little extra
cash with no place better to go and a particular toy is on sale, I bring one
home and try to tempt him. He has a furry squirrel and an orange
frog that he will sometimes drag around for awhile and then hide under the bed
but it’s the rabbit that has captured his heart. It’s as long as he is with a squeaker at each
end and to my amazement and delight, I can’t get him to put it down.
He carries it everywhere, sleeps with it, growls when he makes it
squeak, tries to drag it outside with him, sometimes won’t even put it down
long enough to eat. And woe to the kitten who approaches him
when he’s guarding it – he’s having none of that – though he will bring it to me and dare me to
take it away.
I make a point to always let him win.
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