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He Who Laughs Last Is the “Wiener”
It’s not the size of the dog in the fight; it’s the size of the fight in the dog.
~Mark Twain
Combining households with my parents created some interesting dynamics, not the least of which was putting together their dog and mine. After a few weeks, my parents’ Dachshund, Rowdy, and our 100-pound Shepherd, Glocken, appeared to be getting along just fine even with their size disparity, although the two rarely played together.
Wisdom usually comes with age, and as the wise old man of the pair, I suspect that Rowdy knew he would end up losing any such mismatched game. Of course, that didn’t stop Glocken, who was still somewhat of a puppy, from occasionally picking on his smaller companion.
One afternoon we were outside with the dogs and Glocken bounded across the yard, holding a tennis ball in his mouth. He ran circles around Rowdy, narrowly missing the older dog each time. Finally, he hopped back and forth, stopping just short of the Dachshund’s nose, and then took off running again.
Through the course of several such assaults, Rowdy stood his ground, never flinching. Instead, he gazed up at Glocken with a long, sad expression. And, as we would find out later, he was plotting retaliation.
After several minutes of jousting with Rowdy, Glocken finally grew weary. He dropped the tennis ball and ran across the yard in search of something more interesting.
Without missing a beat, the small dog strolled across the patio to the ball, lifted his back leg, and took his revenge. My husband and I looked at each other in disbelief and roared with laughter.
I’m fairly certain I saw a smile on Rowdy’s face as he walked away.
—Kathy Harris—
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