July 18, 2019
Coal was a standard dachshund that was my not-so-secret admirer. Weighing in at 40 pounds, he was sleek and black, like a seal from the Puget Sound, with long, velvety ears and black, liquid eyes that glittered with intelligence. Four feet long from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. His owner was a crusty old bachelor and the two made up a goofy kind of boys’ club.
Coal went to work with his owner to construction sites where he hunted down rats and was generally top dog. His owner told me a story once about Coal’s hunting prowess. He took down a coyote that had become a nuisance in the neighborhood then dragged the critter home a block and a half. The point of all this is Coal was tough, a real man’s dog. That is, until he came into the clinic.
I am a dachshund person. Mariana was my childhood companion and passed away after I left home. Shotzi was my soul mate. She was the smartest girl! In the early morning hours when I let her outside, she knew not to bark at the squirrel that ran along the fence, daring her to raise Cain. Later in the day it would have been no holds barred. To ease my grief when she died, I went for broke and adopted two litter mates. Duchess was the sweet lover of my soul, while her sister, Katie, was an enigma. I couldn’t decide whether Katie was one sandwich short of a picnic or smart enough not to fall for the sappier side of life. She remained cool and aloof. Toys were for puppies and her emotions remained in check at all times. But, I dearly loved all of my girls.
So, when Coal walked into the clinic I was overwhelmed by this giant size doxie love. Living exclusively in a man’s world, Coal apparently felt the same way. As I swooned over him and showered him with sweet talk, he promptly squatted and let loose a river all over the lobby floor. His owner turned six shades of red and sputtered that that had never happened before.
Dogs make all kinds of messes in the clinic all the time, usually from stress, sometimes to leave a calling card for the next guy, so I shrugged it off. Until the next time and the next and the next. Repeatedly, Coal’s owner assured me this was totally out of character for him. I began to use restraint when Coal came into the clinic, speaking quietly and not getting too close for us to exchange scents. For the most part, that worked.
One evening, Coal’s owner rushed in without an appointment, huffing and puffing to carry his 40-pound buddy. Coal was shaking, had vomited and generally, was not well. Shaking is usually a sign of pain; my boy was hurting somewhere.
Later, as the manly duo prepared to leave with pain meds and pending blood work, the owner set Coal on the front desk where I was sitting. I had visions of him releasing a torrent of love all over my desk. I spoke softly to him while stroking his sleek, muscular sides. He controlled his ardor and stopped shaking. This impressed his owner, “Not since this all started has Coal stopped shaking. You have a special way with him.”
There is an old Irish legend about silkies , seals who come ashore, become human, and fall in love; the male silkies having great powers of seduction. Perhaps, Coal is a silkie that chose to become a dachshund instead.
Belonging 