Stevie, bless her heart, would do anything for a marshmallow.  If you could make her understand what you wanted, she would enthusiastically do it.  For a miniature marshmallow.  Cold fusion in her in water bowl?  No problem.  Come here now.  With pleasure. Potty Outside. Well, maybe.  That one was a little more difficult. Dachshunds are notoriously difficult to housetrain. 

Stevie was short for Frauleinen Stephanie von Whomper. Yes Frauleinen. Leinen had been my married name.  Dachshunds were originally bred in Germany. My ex-husband’s people were German.  We thought we were so clever with that name.

Stevie was my son’s birthday gift one year. 

An internet friend had come to our house to meet me for the first time.  Negley was a story in herself, but we’ll save that for another time. She brought with her Whomper, her miniature dachshund.

Jeremy fell in love with Whomper.  In all fairness, she was an incredible dog.  It was Jeremy’s first experience with a dachshund. Whomper and Stevie both left an impression on his heart. It took us a few years, but we finally gave Jeremy a dachshund. He’s 40 now and has two dachshunds. He will never not have a dachshund.

My son might disagree, but Stevie was the best dachshund of all.  We got her as an 8-week-old puppy, and I had to keep her hidden for almost three days.  It was over a weekend, and I spent hours in the master bathroom sitting on the floor with a wiggly and tiny dachshund who was falling in love with me. And I her.

Being a dachshund, she needed to bark.  Which was adorable in her tiny 8-week old body.  I would stuff her under my t-shirt against my skin to quiet her.  She loved being under my shirt.  Until the day she died, she slept with me at night, under my nightshirt. 

We gave up trying to keep her a secret before the three days were up.  I woke up and carried her to my son’s room and tucked her into bed with him.

She instantly began licking his face – giving kisses. He immediately woke up.  I do believe we managed to surprise him.

She was a short-haired red and just loved everyone.

Dachshunds will often select a person.  That one person is their true love, and they will not be separated without great gnashing of teeth and sorrow.    My son said Stevie’s ultimate gift was that she made everyone feel like they were her person.  And that was true.  But she slept with me every night and would not go to bed until I did.  Sometimes she would tug on the hem of my jeans to signal that it was bedtime if I spent too long at the computer.

My ex-husband and son were runners. My son was on both the cross-country team and the regular track team. Stevie ran with them. For every mile they ran, Stevie ran four or five as she darted here and there smelling smells. She was solid muscle, and boy could she sky.  She was a brownish-red blur when she ran – her ears flapping in the wind she generated.

We kept marshmallows in the house.  They were Stevie’s official treat, though she also would kill for a potato chip or an ice cube.

Stevie was the first dog I had ever truly bonded with.  I couldn’t imagine life without her.  She had the run of our acreage and never strayed.  The neighbors over the hill had a golden lab named Duchess.  Duchess would come over to play and frolic with Stevie.  It was a hoot and a holler to watch them.  Stevie had no idea she wasn’t a big dog, and the two of them romped like equals.

Duchess was a treasure, too.  She was still just a puppy, though full-size.  Duchess was gangly and clumsy and thoroughly delightful. 

I would come home from work at roughly 5:30 each weekday. Stevie would tear down the road, meet my car, and then run alongside it up to where I parked.  This was my homecoming every day.  Her joyful wiggly body would greet me, and I would be covered in kisses.

Stevie gave great kisses.

Sometimes Duchess would he there too.

I came home one warm day in February. Spring was in the air, and my heart was happy. Duchess and Stevie raced me up the hill.

I don’t know what happened exactly.  Did Duchess trip?  Bump into Stevie?  I don’t know.  But when I got out of the car, there was no wiggly little red dachshund to give me kisses.

She was lying on our dirt road.

Still.

I ran to her. 

She was gone. 

I keened. 

I made grief noises I didn’t know I was capable of. 

I will not tell the rest of this story.  It is too raw and too painful even now.

We buried her that night in my flower garden. 

Our hearts were broken, and the house was so very, very quiet without Stevie running around and barking at every noise. 

I could not sleep that night.  There was no warm little red body snuggled against my skin under my nightshirt. 

The next morning was rough. I poured coffee and stood in the kitchen staring out the window at the spot where we had buried her.  The bag of marshmallows was sitting on the counter next to the coffee pot.

I threw them away.

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