Quinn No!

Since I have been writing the Big Old Goofy World blog the most popular and viewed entry has been Door Bell!  It has been viewed approximately 2,500 times.  Dora Bell was our miniature Dachshund.  Never in my wildest dreams did I think that a blog about one of our dogs would be the most popular thing I wrote.  Of course, if you knew Dora, it only makes sense.  After all she was a Dachshund, and everyone knows that the world revolves around Dachshunds . . . at least she thought it did.

Dora passed during the thick of the Covid pandemic.  She had just turned 16 years old.  That is a lot of years for any dog . . . quite an accomplishment for a Dachshund.  Her heart finally gave out and she took her last breath in the arms of those who loved her deeply.  It sadden our hearts.  A huge void was created in our hearts and lives.

 

Nine months later we got Birdie.  Birdie is a beautiful, kind, gentle, and playful soul of a dog.  She is a “Borgie”—a Border Collie and Corgie mix that we got from a ranch near Melstone, Montana.  We were told by the ranch family that we got her from that they used Borgies as cattle dogs.  Because of their shortness it is difficult for the cattle to kick them.  It was good to know even though we didn’t have any cattle.  Six grandkids were as close as we could get to cattle.  We got Birdie because she was the cutest, least active, and most beautiful of the litter.  Turns out she was pulling the wool over our eyes . . . She is cute, beautiful, but she is far from inactive.  Quite the opposite.  She has easily carved her niche in our hearts and lives.  A wonderful addition to the family.

 

This is not about Birdie.  Birdie’s story will come another day.  No, this is the story about Quinn.

 

Who is Quinn?

 

Quinn is the newest addition to the Keener canine family.  Quinn joined our family in March of 2023 at the ripe old age of seven months old.  She is a miniature Dachshund . . . and I mean miniature.  She is an itty bitty and weighs in at 8.5 pounds soaking wet at 15 months of age.  Well beyond her growing years.  It is hard not to fall in love with her . . . though I tried.

 

I tried hard.

 

Quinn comes from a pet store in nearby Billings.  A pet store my wife likes to frequent on her lunch breaks to see the puppies.  That is how she discovered Quinn.  She was the last of a litter of mini-Dachshunds that the store was selling from a Hutterite colony in Montana.  She was the sole survivor of the litter left unsold.  Probably because she was a runt.  She had been at the store for several months, which is odd for a puppy.  My wife fell in love.  The puppy reminded her of Dora.  Thus, began the emotional combat . . . the pleading . . . the tempting . . . the pulling of heart strings.  The onslaught was on whether I was ready or not.  Though she wouldn’t admit it, she was determined to bring Quinn into the family.  She began playing me like a fiddle.

 

For a while I resisted quite well.  Yet, at the same time, I had to admit that Quinn was quite cute from the pictures I received daily on my cell phone from my wife. It went against my better instincts.  This was a puppy from a pet store, and we have all heard the horror stories of puppies from pet stores.  To top it off, she had been there for several months, which is a long time for a pup to be in a store.  At the same time that was the trump card the wife played.  It was sad to see such a cute puppy living in a kettle in a pet store.  She needed freedom.  She needed a family.

 

Twang!  My heartstrings broke.

 

I was broken.  We negotiated bail for Quinn and freed her from her pet store captivity.  She was a free dog.  She waltzed right into the family and our hearts . . . though timidly at first.

 

It took her about a week to completely warm up to us . . . to trust us.  Now the wife had figured that Quinn would be her dog.  Much to her chagrin the little stinker attached herself to me.  The pup was like a shadow.  Everywhere I went, she went.  When napping she cuddled up on me.  The family teased me about how attached she was to me and that she wasn’t the sort of dog a masculine person would have.  It did not matter what I said, they were relentless.  I kept saying she wasn’t mine.  Luckily (for my sake) she has broadened her world and is willing to any available lap.  The wife is happier now.  Quinn still shadows me though.

 

But Quinn is not Dora . . . despite the resemblance.  No, Quinn is her own dog.  At the same time, she is a Dachshund.  Because of that she has many of the Dachshund traits.

 

Quinn loves to eat.  She is a bottomless pit where food disappears into the vast unknown.  Quinn has never met a food that she didn’t like.  I give her give her that. You name it, she will eat it.  Nor is she bashful.  She has no problem trying to help Birdie eat her food.  Thankfully, Birdie is fairly tolerant . . . she growls a little, but always leaves a kibble or two for her little sister.  You name it . . . Quinn will eat it.

 

Quinn is bossy . . . or maybe assertive.  She has no problem in letting people know what she is thinking.  Living by her stomach, she has an internal clock that lets her know its time to eat.  At 5:00PM, every day, she begins barking and letting us know that it is time . . . time to feed the pups!  She is pretty insistent about it.  Same with the morning and noon feedings.  When her stomach insists, she responds.  She comes to wherever I am, sits at my feet, rolls those big brown eyes, and starts yapping.

 

It is effective . . . she gets what she wants.

 

Same with playing.  She loves to play . . . especially with toys that make noise.  The louder and irritating the sound, the better.  Her goal is either to drive us crazy with the noise or, heaven forbid . . . she must get the squeaker out.  She is a menace to stuffed toys, she has methodically demolished and torn apart every stuffed toy apart . . . one limb at a time.  Her toys are scattered across the house and yard.  Plus, being a Dachshund, all the toys are hers.  Birdie isn’t so sure about that . . . but, again, she is patient with her little sister.  Dachshunds don’t share well.

 

Quinn loves to play.  She attempts to play with Birdie.  Birdie probably weighs five times more than Quinn.  Quinn is also small enough that she can stroll under Birdie.  Size does not deter.  She tries to play with Birdie . . . tires to play tug-a-war.  It lasts a few minutes and then Birdie shakes her head and Quinn goes flying and tumbling into the ozone.  Unphased . . . Quinn comes running back for more.

 

As I said . . . she’s a talker and lets you know she is there and has something to say.  I have come to appreciate these conversations.  I look her in the eyes and ask, “What?  Did Timmy fall into the well?”  Of course, this only prompts her to bark more.  She barks when she wants to eat . . . when she wants to play . . . when she wants to go out . . . to announce intruders.  I think she just likes to bark.  More times than not she grows tired of trying to get me to understand, turns and walks away.  I’m an idiot that she leaves in her dust.

 

I love her enthusiasm for life.  She is full of joy in the moment.  She loves life.  She loves her sisters.  She loves us.  It enthuses from her very being.  She often gets what we call the “rips” where she runs and zips through the house at lightening speed.  It is “damn the torpedoes!”  It is “full speed ahead!”  Thumpity thump through the house or yard at a hundred miles an hour—the thundering wiener is on the loose.  It is pure joy in motion.  A sight to behold.  I wish I had her enthusiasm for life.  I’d join her, but the wife would get irritated.  I’m not as graceful as Quinn . . . nor am I as cute.

 

Quinn is still a puppy.  She acts like a puppy.  She thinks like a puppy.  She is constantly exploring.  Constantly checking out everything.  She lets her curiosity get the best of her.  It often leads to . . . well everything she should not be doing.  That means she knows the word “NO!”  She knows it quite well.  In fact, she probably thinks her name is “Quinn, no!”  Dora was always barking at every noise . . . at every person who came to the door . . . at every visitor who graced our home—thus she earned the nickname “Dora Bell”.  Quinn has earned her moniker of “Quinn No!”

 

Quinn has taken her place in our heart and the legacy or pups we have loved.  She joins those that came before her . . . Pettie (Scottish Terrier), Whoopie (Akita), Maddie (Boxer), Dora (mini-Dachshund), Lucy (dapple mini-Dachshund), and Birdie (Borgie).  Throw into the mix our granddog Scout (Australian Shepherd/Border Collie mix), my current girlfriend, Stockton (neighbor’s dog), Moose (Great Dane and previous neighbor’s dog), Bear (Great Pyrenees), and Honey Badger (rez dog of neighbors).   We love them and loved them all.  They have made our lives better and joyful.  They have left their marks upon us . . . or as someone said, “Dogs leave paw prints on our hearts.”  Quinn has joined our family and lives with us.  We could not imagine it any other way.

 

You’d think we would learn.  Some unknown dog lover said, “Having a dog will bless you with many of the happiest days of your life, and one of he worse.”  Yeah, you would think that we’d learn.  It is worth the risk.

 

Yes, Quinn, yes!