When we went to Muttville to adopt a dog a few months after the death of our well-loved cockapoo Shadow we had no intention of adopting a dachsund.
But Mason came right over to us and sat on John's lap. We were goners.
I've been sorting through a huge box of letters and photos that I inherited when my mother passed away 2 years ago, and I was struck by the inevitability of our adopting Mason.
You see, Mason is just the most recent dachsund in our family.
Here is my grandmother Louise in La Conner, Washington, with her dachsund puppy, Pupchen, in 1935 or so:
And a couple of years later:
Morris Graves, a well-known northwest artist, lived nearby at this time. He would come to visit regularly with his dachsund; he and Granny Louise would have a drink (or many) and talk about art and the deficiencies of culture in a small town, but the dogs were the glue of the relationship.
Here is Pupchen in a posed Christmas card photo with my mother when she was in high school:
Pupchen was so important that my great-grandfather, a blacksmith, made special andirons in her honor:
He really captured the dachsund facial expression!
So when I was about 6 and my sister was 5 it was no surprise that the puppy we were given for Christmas was a dachsund!
1958 My mother is holding the dog, my grandmother Louise is on the far right on the sofa, and I am sitting on the floor in my favorite middy dress.
Important member of the family to be included in the formal portrait!
Our dog with my mother, around 1967.
Is it any surprise that there is now a dachsund in the house?