So, Darlin’. About Savannah Jane               




Savannah Jane is my baby girl. I love her dearly, and she is about to turn two on May first. Two! The Terrible Twos!  Oh no!

Fortunately for me, I suppose, Savannah Jane is kind-of a teenager at two, because, well… umm… she’s a dog. Now don’t go getting all cray-cray and telling her she is a dog, because she will never believe you anyway. If you did somehow manage to convince her that she is in fact a dog, she’d be a Rottie or a Dobie in her head… but not ten pounds of terror in a sausage-shaped body.


Let’s backpedal a bit, shall we?

Savannah Jane came into my life when my Very Old Dog Duchess was on her deathbed. Well, there at the last I mean, for she had been on her deathbed for about six months and Refused. To. Die. Duchie was 18, and she had been a puppy mill mommy dog before she came to live with me. From the look in her eyes I can tell that times were hard at the Mill. Poor thing was scared of everything and everyone except me, and had the most mournful, sad eyes I have ever seen. She was truly my heart dog, and none shall ever, EVER take her place.

My BFF Famous (yes, I call her Famous and that’s all you need to know. You can call her Famous, too.) and I had been to my house during the workday to see about Duchie and things were… Not. Good. It was becoming clear to me that Duchie was NOT going to “chase a bunny rabbit over the Rainbow Bridge” as I had begged her, and though she was not in pain, the tiny degree of quality of life she had been enjoying was rapidly declining. My wonderful dachshund friends at DLC ( had assured me that I would know when it was “time,” and I was trying desperately to psyche myself up for when “time” came. In all matters Doxie, and in many matters non-doxie, they are always right.

The next day, Famous called to see if I was home after work. I was, and six minutes later she and her Posse of Small Children (there are four. I don’t know why. Four. Really. Wow.) rolled up my driveway in Big Red, her ^snort^ mini-van, and the doors all slid open. The littlest one was grinning like a possum (man, it is TOTALLY a good thing he’s cute because he will kneecap you with a baseball bat like a Tony Soprano goon in the blink of an eye. Man. He truly is realllllly cute.) and said “YayYay Bubby!”

The children and some grown-ups have always called me “Rae-Rae” and the little bitties sometimes come up with “YayYay.” I love it. Makes me smile.

“Bubby” was beyond me until Famous folded her five-eleven-and-a-half-inches-barefoot frame out of the van (yes, I hate her) and gave me a look.

Now, I don’t know how things are with you and YOUR BFF, but there’s a little spot right about an inch and a half behind Famous’ right ear, deep in her brain. I live there. I can read her mind, jump to her conclusions, and if the wind is blowing right, show up on her doorstep with a Big Mac Extra Value Meal – supersized – and the Blu-Ray versions of Beaches AND Pretty Woman before my phone even rings.

Anyway, I digress. Get used to it, Darlin.

So Famous unfolds out of the van and gives me Serious Mom-Face. I hate this because I have seen her give assorted members of the Posse of Small Children this face, and it bodes NO good.

She grabbed my head in her hands, looked into my eyes, and said, “you are my best friend. I love you to the moon. And your heart is fixing to break into a million pieces, sooner rather than later. You. Need. A. Puppy.”

She threw her Cousin It mane of hair over one shoulder and shrieked “GABRIEL!!!!” at which point the oldest of the Posse climbed out of the back of Big Red and presented Famous with a squiggling, wriggling handful of puppy (BUBBY!) cuteness.


I held up my hands and stated backing away, slowly… but it was no use. Somehow I was holding an adorable, tiny little six-week-old dachshund puppy close to my heart. I said “dangit Famous, you know I cannot do a puppy and a geriatric hospice dog at the same time. NO.”

Of course, I was scritching that liddle puppy behind her ears while I protested…

And then Famous was gone in a cloud of driveway dust and I was alone with The Grand Ole Duchess, the little one and my DH (Darling Husband).  More on that later.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s