Our little canine companion, Wiener by name, is a very cuddly little guy. Before he came to us he had a companion, long-hair dachshund, with whom he shared a cage. He has made the best of a lonely situation, what with living with two elderly human-types.
Wiener has a basketful of toys, squeak toys, fuzzy toys, balls, animals and so on. He knows some of them by name. For example, say, "Get the horsie," or "Go find your pig," and he will make the correct choice. The pig is quite useful, too, for its squeak is exactly what is needed to call him in from outside, or from his hiding place if he has holed up somewhere.
We have two stuffed dogs which I refrain from calling "toys" for they were simply decor in our sunroom. Wiener has adopted them, not as toys, but as companions for his afternoon naps. He can often be seen sleeping with one or both of them.
We find that the guy is a bit of an oldster himself as witness the white in his muzzle. Recent calculations estimate his true age at about fourteen. This was determined by noting the age of a grandson when Wiener joined that family and the age of that grandson now. Now how could that kid be twenty-four years old?
