Anybody got a lap dog that rules the roost? I do…Penelope Grace Saunders. Eighteen pounds of dachshund resting on chihuahua legs. Always said I’d never have a dog whose toenails clicked on the floor but now I do. Every time she goes to my brother’s vet office I ask him to cut her toenails. I’m always depressed when he says she doesn’t need them cut. Walking her on the side walk is supposed to naturally file them and we do walk but she till clicks. Vet brother classifies her as a red dachshund but her legs don’t match. Her saving grace is that she really doesn’t have chihuahua legs but she has those toenails!

Anyway, her first home was with an elderly grandfather who obviously loved her very much. He named her Suzette but I saw her as Penelope. One morning I heard one of the day care mothers talking about how upset her grandfather was because he had to move to the nursing home and his dachshund was going to the humane shelter. They weren’t even talking to me but I was listening. I’m nosey and I’m a sucker for a sob story so I blurted out, “I’ll take her!”

She was so precious! Just a bundle of love but no one but me was attached to her. I was going to work each day hoping they were home loving her. Stew called her rat dog and Chief didn’t want her to sleep on our bed. She’d sleep in her cage at night in our room, reluctantly. Time passed and Stew and Chief grew to love her. Even our grouchy old house cat learned to tolerate her. We’d get in the bed each night and Chief would say, “ Mama, wheres the puppy. Be sure she’s on the bed and she’s got her blanket.”

Our house was cold so we got her a few doggy sweaters. Oh, my goodness, she hated them! First time I put one on her she acted paralyzed and couldn’t walk for a few minutes. She’d try everything to get it off. She’d fake having to go to the bathroom. We’d let her out and she’d wander through the bushes till she snagged the sweater on a limb and pulled it off. She’d try to hide it too.

This dog is obsessed with “people food.” I guess her grandpaw set her a place at the table each night. You can feed her a 12 ounce doggie filet mignon and she will still bore a hole in you with her poor, starving, sad, puppy face. I just try to ignore her but then she whines or squeaks, she sounds just like she’s saying, “Mama!”

Chief was so bad to feed her from his plate, I made Vet brother write a prescription for her that said, “No table food!” Put that prescription on the refrigerator but Chief didn’t abide it. He’d always say, “Well, she wanted some!” We went to the Dairy Queen once and he wanted me to buy her a cup of ice cream! Yeah, I did! But I only let her have a few licks.

Lots of nights I’d catch him fixing himself a bowl of ice cream and he’d have a little saucer for her ice cream. After he died I’d get some ice cream and Penelope would stare at me waiting for her helping. I’d give in, too, and give her a teaspoon in her bowl and then try to enjoy mine while she poor puppy dog eyed me.

I take Penelope to Vet brother’s clinic for special shampoo, allergy shots and rabies shots, flea and tick pills, and occasionally for a prescription, usually after she’s scarfed some trash from the yard. Once he asked me if she ate a Hershey kiss? Well, I ate some but I didn’t give her one I say. He takes the thermometer he pulled from her fanny and shows me a tiny piece of tin foil. “Guess she did eat one,” he says grinning.

He would always tell me to quit the giving her table food. “She’s got a sensitive stomach!” I’d always blame it on Chief. Vet brother would say, “If you have to feed her something from the table, boil some chicken fingers and give her a few bites,” Well this dog loves bacon, biscuits, pizza crusts, Hershey kisses, anything wrapped in cellophane, and will unapologetically occasionally go dumpster diving in the trash can for a treat.

I grew up with collard eating yard dogs who never went to the doctor. Never went to the vet, never even got rabies shots. My dad sold Purina dog chow at McMurray Hardware but never brought a bag home! Our yard dogs ate leftovers and lived long, happy lives.

Penelope once ate a salad plate of Christmas fudge, she threw up three times, and ran off to search for another treat. Once she jumped on the table and ate three-fourths of a delicious apple pie. I was so mad. I had even made the crust from scratch. I made her wear a little sign around her neck that said, “I’m a bad dog!” I took a photo of her and shamed her on Facebook! That didn’t phase her!

I caught her once standing on the table happily finishing the sausage quiche we had for supper. She just froze in place. Looked as guilty as a child. We finally figured out that if Chief didn’t push his chair all the way under the table, she’d use his chair to jump on the table. One day Chief calls down the hall, “Mama, did you get my biscuits?” I didn’t but I knew who did! “Did you push your chair in,” I’d say. Knowing he didn’t. That night I sat down in Rosie’s room to watch Gunsmoke and when I fluffed my lap blanket, three biscuits rolled out!

Found a pizza crust under the sofa pillows yesterday. Blamed it on Stew but she had dumpster dived for that!

And forget eating a snack! The rustle of cellophane can wake her from a food induced coma! I tried sneaking a pack of peanut butter crackers in my bra to the porch swing. Waited till I heard her snoring, went to reach for the crackers. she jerks up at attention, looking at me, and I see Stew watching me through the screen door. He shakes his head, as I’m reaching for the crackers. “I’m calling Bro,” he says!

Shady Oaks, here I come!