Acquired: Rescue / shelter organization
Posted April 1, 2015
I had a friend that volunteered at a humane society on the weekends who, on a chilly day in 2006, told me of a short-haired, black and tan Dachshund that just came from an abusive situation and was awaiting adoption. Only fifteen years old, and my heart already taken with the idea of a tiny dog to sleep at the foot of my bed, I begged my mom to take me.
Upon seeing his (then) tawny brown and black face, I was taken. My heart, my mind, and my soul belonged to this sad-eyed puppy who stared at me longingly through his kennel cage. My mom told me I couldn’t get attached until my dad gave the okay, but I’d already given the pup a name. Connor. It seemed to fit him, revealing his stoic and sweet disposition. My hopes were squelched slightly, however, whenever one of the humane society employees walked up to me and pointed at Connor. “He’s got a sister, you know. Right there in that corner,” she pointed a couple of cages away, at another identical Dachshund, which was licking the cage door nervously. “They got to go together. They’ve never been separated and it would break their hearts.”
My mom and I exchanged glances. We were both fine with getting another dog, but my dad was pretty strict on animals in the house, and we were afraid this would surely be a dealbreaker.
Turns out, I had no worries. We brought Dad down with us the next day, and Connor pulled out all the shots, lifting an oversized paw attached to his stubby little leg to give him a high five through the cage. “Well, yep, he’s ours. Both of them are.” My father chuckled at Connor’s display of affection.
And so we adopted Connor and Dakota. They were faithful, sweet, never mean, and always knew whenever I was sad throughout my teenage years. They were very timid in the beginning, having been abused the first year and a half of their lives, but their personalities began to shine as we assured them of our love.
Connor was the guard dog, and somehow thought he was as intimidating as a doberman. He’d go into a frenzy barking whenever someone knocked at the door. He always warmed up to guests and children after several rounds of sniffing.
We never had them trained, as they were very well-behaved as far as aggression was concerned. However, if there’s any breed that is incorrigibly stubborn, it’s the dachshund. Connor would always run after a ball or his stuffed monkey, but he never brought it back, instead attempting to dodge my grasp and go play with his monkey in peace.
Years went by. I went off to college in 2011, leaving my beloved puppies with my parents. In 2014, I graduated and got married, moving two states away from home. Three months into my marriage, I got a call from my mom, who was in tears.
Connor was attacked by a much larger and aggressive dog. My dad got home, let him outside, only to hear him crying and yelping five minutes later. Dad rushed outside to find our neighbor’s dog in our yard with his jaws clamped around Connor’s neck and upper back, shaking him from side to side. My dad rushed the giant dog, yelling at it to get away. It dropped Connor to the ground and ran off. Dad was able to bundle him up and take him to the animal hospital close by. I found out a couple of days later that Connor went through surgery without complications, even though one shoulder blade was splintered to pieces, and there were puncture wounds deep enough to scratch bones.
Connor pulled through with a full recovery. He’s bonded with my dad, to the point that he follows him everywhere. He sees himself as the family protector, and we would not think any less of him. He’s a bit skittish whenever we let him outside, but holds his own when other dogs walk down the road. Had he died last year, our family would have been devastated. Our dachshunds, though stubborn at times, have brought so much joy and companionship to every member of my family, and have shown their devotion to us.