Ghost of dachshunds past...

Here are some vintage photos from my mother's photo album, featuring my beloved childhood dachshunds!

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Be sure to check out my blog on pet rescue!

Cousin It, doggy-style

How is it possible that Sunny can shed so much and still possess a luxuriously full, shiny coat? I am currently sweeping the floor every day--and each time, I get a dog-hair tumbleweed the size of a bowling ball. It's a wonder she's not completely bald.

Between official sweeps, I scoop up small, bonus tumbleweeds that lurk in corners, at the base of chairs, behind the refrigerator. I'm convinced that there are small tufts of fur gathering stealthily throughout the house. They watch me, waiting for me to sit down, then they scurry out of hiding while my back is turned.

It's a conspiracy. Together, the hairballs plan to takeover the kitchen, the family room and then the world! Meanwhile, I'm plotting against them, determined to sweep them into oblivion--at least until I can figure out how to transform a giant hairball into a living, breathing dachshund puppy.

Nobunny wants to do this on Easter...

Our 17-year-old washing machine broke down dramatically last night, its belly full of wet blankets. The appliances must have been plotting this for weeks, conspiring to find the best possible time to act. Intent on wreaking maximum havoc, they waited patiently until our mountains of dirty clothing rivaled Mt. Everest. For the evil appliance collective, it was merely a bonus that this coincided with Easter weekend.

Now I'm hopping off to shop for a new washer on Easter Sunday! Just about every article of clothing I own is dirty. And I'm not talking about slightly dirty. I'm not talking about "brush it off and re-wear it" dirty. I'm talking "been lying in big fetid piles for weeks" dirty.

So, dear readers, here's the question of the day: Which is more appropriate attire for appliance shopping on Easter Sunday, a sequined black evening gown, or a Star Trek costume?