My dog and I like to howl at the moon. Actually, I like to howl
at the moon. Mamouchie just likes to howl.
All I have to do is start singing
”
Home on the Range
”
in a warbling off-key voice and she chimes in. First she yips a
few times, then barks, and then joins me in a full-fledged
howl.
We aren’t as scary sounding as coyotes in the wild, but we put
on a pretty good show.
My dog and I like to howl at the moon. Actually, I like to howl at the moon. Mamouchie just likes to howl.
All I have to do is start singing “Home on the Range” in a warbling off-key voice and she chimes in. First she yips a few times, then barks, and then joins me in a full-fledged howl.
We aren’t as scary sounding as coyotes in the wild, but we put on a pretty good show.
Her voice is a remarkable instrument. When I put her leash on to go for a walk, she has a whole different kind of squeal which I’ve concluded is excited dog laughter. She spins around a few times, threatening to entangle me in the leash, before we head out.
Mamouchie has been with my husband and me for a little over ten years. She is a wire-haired dachshund: picture a weenie dog in a Benji suit.
Her conformation isn’t great and she doesn’t have papers, but she is definitely a dachshund.
We adopted her from a gay couple in Tampa, where we lived at the time. We never met the couple; they were friends of friends. But one of them was dying from Aids and caring for the then-puppy, whom they called “Pat,” was bringing them more stress than comfort.
So she arrived with a lame name and a bunch of behavioral problems, including wetting the floor when she got excited, and getting excited every time anybody came near her.
We tackled the lame name first.
We asked the friends who had brokered the deal for some suggestions. Michele, a Cuban-American, asked all the families she knew and came back with a list. She told us “Mamouchie” means “Little Cutie,” and I hope she was telling the truth because that’s what we’ve called her all these years.
Slowly she learned to trust us and know that whatever bad stuff had happened to her in the stressed-out home she came from, it wasn’t going to happen any more. She learned to trust us and calmed down.
She still gets excited when people come around.
Whenever she hears a friend open our gate and come up the walk, she starts to whimper and squeal.
To tell you the truth, it sounds awful. It sounds like we’re pulling out her toenails, or worse. Luckily the neighbors know better and haven’t turned us in for pet abuse.
We know she’s a princess because of the elaborate measures she will use to find a soft place to sleep, like the Princess and the Pea.
Her current favorite perch is on the arm and back of the sofa, with a pillow, two blankets and her dog blanket underneath her.
If there are two piles of pillows, she unerringly chooses the thicker one. If there are two identical piles of pillows, but one has a sock or a dishtowel on it, she unerringly chooses that one. This dog knows soft.
Her name, Mamouchie, often gets shortened to “Moochie,” or even “The Moocher.” Yes, we allow her to beg. She begs at our dining table and she begs at our camp fire when we go to historical re-enactments or rendezvous.
Then she makes the rounds of everybody else’s campfire. At mealtimes, she’s looking for snacks, but other times she just makes the rounds to squeal a hello to everybody.
Since she is approaching 80 years old in dog years, I know she’ll only be around for a few more years at most. So I howl with her more often now, in gratitude for the love and laughs she has brought us over the years.
