What a weekend! Saturday, we got a phone call that Winston was finally ready to arrive home. He'll be making his first appearance on August 9th and we're terribly excited to have a little brother to torment, teach our tricks (like the appropriate face to wear when begging for table scraps or tummy rubs) and generally show how to become Just. Like. Us, only not as fabulous because his blog is not nearly as well acclaimed. (But it does exist - Winston Takes the World, a travel blog, is being updated as we speak).
And then, just as we were snoozing in on Sunday morning, plotting our day of tummy rubs and wubba activities, we heard a yip. Yes, a yip. It's the only word we can contemplate to describe the noise that this small moving toy was making. We hear rumors of words like "rescue" and "adoption" and a strange word called "longhaired miniature dachshund." Marty, or so he calls himself, is in the midst of the terrible twos, appears to want to take our spot (mom's lap) and displays a disdainful lack of interest in the wubba. At ten pounds, we have determined that our food bowl weighs more than he does. And he has the audacity to growl (if that noise he makes can be called such a thing) at us, as if HE is the alpha dog. We are not sure if we like this new "friend" yet and are determining if the pipsqueak shall be taught a lesson. His redeeming feature is his incredible fur. Perhaps when he quiets down we can bond about grooming techniques for keeping our locks so long and luscious. But for the moment, we will wait for Winston's arrival. Shepherds must confer about these things, you see. Thankfully, Marty's stay is supposed to be temporary - he will relocated to Arlington with M- in November. We hope.