Let’s talk about snow, shall we? That white, powdery substance that manages to get into every crevice of my fur without mercy. I was born in the American Southwest- the land of “it’s a dry heat”, sunshine, and balmy 60-degree winters. Then, my parents moved us to this “Midwest” place. And its snow.

I can’t even go outside in this mess without ending up a half dachshund/half snowdog. Little clumps of wet snow bunches into my fur, and hangs on tighter than Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. It then either melts slowly and turns me into a (shudder) wet dog, or Mom tries to yank the snow out of my fur like she’s pulling taffy.

I don’t know what kind of joke Mother Nature is playing, but this business is ridiculous. I already have to put up with rain, a.k.a. God’s tears (who wants to literally be showered in sadness? Not this guy). I mean, what’s the point of snow? Sure, it gives me a fresh canvass for spreading my precious urine (it ain’t gold for no reason folks). (Dear God, I’m turning into a midwesterner. Make it stop.) And it makes it much easier to track squirrels since I can see their freakish pawprints in the snow. But really, it’s overall purpose escapes me.

And of course, the big dumb animal who also lives here loves the damn stuff. She romps around in it like an idiot, and OF COURSE, she is a short-haired dog, so the crap doesn’t get stuck in HER fur. No. That punishment of nature is just reserved for me, being long-haired and low to the ground. At least Dad had the courtesy to shovel out a path for me in the yard to minimize the trauma to my body.

Eff you, Jack Frost. Take your snow & get out.

-Grumpy Dachshund



Mother and Father left us last week. I knew something suspicious was happening when they brought out the suitcases. Never a good sign. They kept babbling about going to “The Happiest Place On Earth”, which I had previously ASSUMED was here, when they were with me. But now I know where their hearts truly lie. Then, Saturday morning, they LEFT us. Put me in the bedroom with the door shut, instead of leaving me freely roaming as I am normally allowed to do in my own home. Not. Okay.

So I decided to take action.

I figured I could dig my way out of the room. If Andy Dufresne could do it with a damn miniature hammer, then this canine surely could find the way out of my prison.  Perhaps I could find parents who would appreciate the love and unlimited kisses I had to offer.   After probing my surroundings, I determined that the weakest spot was also the most obvious: the doorway.

A layer of carpet sat under the doorway. Naturally, I surmised that if I could remove this carpet obstacle, I could find a way under the door. Carpet is usually what, 2 feet deep in these houses?  I used my mighty paws and my vicious fangs to begin hollowing out the space. I was making some quick progress when I heard someone enter the house. Someone not being Mom or Dad.  I furiously continued to burrow through the carpet, shredding the fibers with my teeth and growling in anticipation of release.  I felt like I was almost there. Footsteps were coming closer & closer.  When the door opened, I was able to see the extent of my progress.

You can call me Shredder.

After Dad’s friend picked the carpet remnants from my teeth, I heard him on the phone with Dad.  I think I heard crying, and something about a security deposit. Totally worth it.

For the rest of the week, I was free to roam the lower level of my home. Escape plan: Success.

Victory, Beefy Treats, and Kisses

Well my friends, it looks like we survived the onslaught of the Squirrels for now.  I have taken the past few days to ruminate on the events of the fateful Fourth, and I have come to one conclusion: we must remain ever diligent. We have held them back, defeated this most recent effort to overthrow our world, but They will not cease. We must always be prepared, for one never knows when the Squirrels will plan an ambush. Nevertheless, we celebrated our victory with beefy flavored treats and lots of belly rubs from the humans. All is well.

It was eerily quiet that evening. Mommy and Daddy seemed subtlely anxious. I had followed through with my plans to fortify our location, and was waiting patiently for the attack. But, as soon as the first pops started, another sound trickled though the air. It slowly got louder and louder, filling the night sky with its battle cry. Lights started flashing, but these were different lights than the other evenings. They pulsed through the street methodically, and Mommy and Daddy sighed with relief and rose with curiosity as the source of the lights flew by the house.  A band of humans, going to quell the Rebellion, sounding the alarm for all around as they headed into the fray of battle. The explosions stopped as suddenly as they had begun. It is difficult for me to admit, fellow canines, but the humans warded off the Squirrel Rebellion. While I am still suspicious of their motives (& still not fully convinced of Mommy and Daddy’s true allegiances), let us all give lick-faces to our human companions this evening.

I hope Wuss is crying in his treehole somewhere. Fluffy little bastard.

Day 3 of the Squirrel Rebellion.

The bombing has continued for 3 nights now. The squirrels seem to be engaging in some sort of nocturnal warfare; as soon as the sun falls below the horizon and the sky darkens, the explosions start. Thus far, no direct hits to our fortress have been made.  This reinforces my sickening theory that Mommy and Daddy are indeed covert operatives for the Squirrel Rebellion.  The little rodents would not endanger their own spies while they are still beneficial to the Mission.

I am attempting to communicate in secret at this point, so as to avoid interception of my reports to you, fellow comrades. Mommy thinks I am just chewing on a rawhide bone behind the couch; luckily, my pawpaws allow me to type swiftly and silently.

I am working on a defense and counter-attack strategy.  I have overheard Mommy and Daddy murmuring about “the 4th”, and referring to it as Independence Day.  This is obviously the date that the Squirrel Faction intends to execute their primary attack, thereby taking over civilization as we know it and gaining Independence.  But do not fear, my fellow canines- we shall unite and stave off the Squirrels, led by that fluffy little bastard, Wuss. Below is the detailed, highly confidential plan to ward off the Rebellion. Whatever you do, DO NOT allow this message to fall into the wrong hands.  (Where is an R2D2 unit in which to hide your secret plans when you need it…)

Step 1: Collect the necessary supplies. Once the attack commences, we will need ample resources to keep up our energy. Work on collecting all the dog treats, rawhide bones, and food that you can get your paws on. I plan to steal some of the slobbering beast’s food and hide it in my super secret spot in the corner of the room behind the lamp. Tip: Dirty socks provide good camouflage from the humans for your hidden provisions.

Step 2: Construct the appropriate fortifications. Once the explosions start hitting home after dark, we will need additional protection from debris and shrapnel. I recommend stealing the humans’ blankets and pillows. I should be able to con the larger dog into assisting with the construction so as to speed the process significantly. My Tiny Legs of Might can only do so much.

Step 3: Prepare booby traps. Now, this is where you can get creative. Tip 1: Strategically placed poo can throw off the Squirrels’ human counterparts, especially in the dark. You will probably need to start this step ASAP, so get to work on it. Also, it means that those of you who consume feces need to refrain from digesting the battle materials. (Also, stop being disgusting. Hillbilly. Have some respect for yourself and quit shaming your species.) Tip 2: Arrange your toys to add to the obstacles prohibiting entry into your fortification (entryway placement is ideal). The Squirrels may not know what the foreign objects are, and may be delayed by their tiny little brains when they cannot recognize the entity in its path. Tip 3:  Take out the lights inside the house. That way, we can operate under the stealth of night and eliminate the Squirrels’ advantage in this regard. I recommend climbing on furniture and knocking over lamps. Yes, the humans will get angry, but this is why you must plan to complete this portion of the booby-trapping last. If you can, blame it on the cats in your residence. They also hate squirrels, so they should go along with it (for now. Watch your back for retaliation from those cold-blooded creatures).

Step 4: Battle.

The Squirrels will likely attempt to infiltrate your home after several direct bombing hits weaken your defenses. Remember to stay calm and focused, and don’t reveal your position for attack until you are close enough to see the wiggling of their noses. They may have infiltrated the humans, they may have found a large stockpile of heavy explosives, and they may even have us beat in pure numbers, but WE, my fellow canines, outweigh them in brains, physical strength, and heart. If we can outlast the initial attack, and lure them into our battleground, we are sure to emerge victorious.

Step 5: Victory, followed by raiding of the Humans’ food pantries.


-General Grumpy Dachshund

We Are Under Attack.

Someone is bombing the neighborhood. I think it’s the squirrels.  I can’t quite pinpoint where it’s coming from, but the sounds of their rockets are ricocheting everywhere. I keep trying to sound the alarm, but Mommy and Daddy don’t seem to care. AT ALL.  They keep telling me to calm down. Calm down?? There are things being shot at us!!!!! Flashing lights everywhere!!!! WHY ARE YOU NOT REACTING? Even the other dog is worried!

Maybe I’ve been wrong all this time. Maybe Mommy and Daddy are in on the whole thing with the squirrels. That is the only explanation for their state of serenity, & why they only seem to be irritated at me for yelling for reinforcements, and not concerned about the warfare occurring on our doorstep.  They-


Something just exploded in the sky right above our house. Holy hell. Shit’s gettin real.

That’s it. I’m collecting my things. Once Mommy and Daddy (if that is even their real names) snap out of their hypnosis-the only explanation for their idiotic behavior- we are going to have to make a run for it. Abandoning our post is not ideal, but it appears that we have no other choice. I cannot defend the entire fortress single-handedly, and without a reliable partner, we need to relocate to a more condensed space. I’ll report back as soon as I know more.

Be safe comrades. Fight The Man.

-Grumpy Dachshund


I am not sure how it happened. I think the slobbering beast may have attacked me in my sleep. I seem to recall some fitful dreams the other night- perhaps they were not dreams at all.

Whenever Mommy picks me up I can’t hold back a whimper. I know I am no longer a young pup, but these senior citizen pains are not cool.  I can’t exactly tell from where the pain is radiating- is it a pulled groin muscle? Perhaps I strained something in my legs? I’m not limping from pawpaw pain, so it seems to be something done to my torso or legs directly.  It’s not holding me back from eating my dinner before the other “dog” tries to sneak bites of my food. But I am not as active as I usually am able to be.

I may need round-the-clock care now. Mommy and Daddy should just quit their jobs. I think I need 24/7 snuggles to keep my strength. Hand-feeding will probably be necessary too. While we’re on the food subject, I think we need to transition into a human food diet. I feel like that dry kibble is not conducive to healing in the same way that Mommy and Daddy’s food would be.  This should include unlimited drinks of milk, and tastes of that brown creamy sweet-smelling stuff that they always say “isn’t good for me”.  I’m too wise to fall for that shit.

Keep Your Arms to Yourself. Oh Wait, They’re So Freakishly Short That You Have No Other Choice

Sometimes, I like to get philosophical. As I lounge in the sun, trying to ignore the slobbering beast laying nearby, I think of squirrels some more. And the many ways I hate them. This, in turn, logically leads me to other things I hate.  Exhibit A: Freakishly short arms on things.

Things with freakishly short arms which I hate:

-Squirrels. Obvious. The way they sit there on their hind legs with their deformed tiny limbs perched limply. Sickening. I shall go vomit on the patio to show my dominance and disgust. Mommy will understand.

-T-rex. They think they’re soooo tough, but they can’t even touch their own faces with those impotent things they call “arms”. Freak.

-Kangaroos. The T-Rex of deer. Whoever thought it was hilarious to put boxing gloves on them is obviously mentally ill.

Now, some of you less intelligent humans may say: but Grumpy Dachshund, you have short legs as well, how can you hate on your own kind? To which I respond:

False. MY legs:

1. Are fully functional & useful, unlike the ridiculous T-Rex. My COMPLETELY PROPORTIONAL TO THE REST OF MY BODY legs allow me to gallop at high speeds, especially in furious circles around the living room. Also they allow me to pivot sharply to avoid Mommy’s brush when she tries to strip me of my fur. T-Rexes, contrastingly, have arms that do not make ANY sense in comparison with their size.  I’m pretty sure God created T-Rexes after a few too many dog treats, drunk with power and peanut butter flavor.  There is no other explanation.

2. Are insanely adorable, thereby distinguishable from those hideous squirrels.  My “pawpaws”, as Mommy calls them, are chubby and tiny and irresistible.  I can suck people in with my cuteness, perching on my hind legs and waving my delightful hands at them, & then, as they grab my paws to shake hands, hypnotize them with kisses until they fully submit to my awesomeness.  Squirrels, on the other hand, are just hideous rodents. Their tiny arms can barely hold those stupid nuts they like to crunch obsessively. They are lean and scratchy and NOT CUTE AT ALL.

3. Don’t need boxing gloves (*cough*kangaroos*cough*) to be tiny limbs of terror.  If you mess with me, I am not afraid to slap you in the face. Ask the other dog that squats here. Or Daddy.  I don’t need any assistance in taking a bitch down. If you mess with my toys, or try to take my bone, I will not hesitate to beat you into subservience with my tiny fists of fury.

I know it may be tough for you to keep up with my logic, since I am clearly an advanced being. Just remember that I am adorable, yet vicious- an enigma of perfection. Those other creatures are just jokes of nature.

Time to lather Daddy in kisses until he wakes up with my pawpaws on his face.