Attack of the Wiener Dog!

I printed this on a teeshirt for Kathryn for Christmas.

The day started out as most others.  No one suspected what was about to happen; there were no dark omens to speak of.  If a black cat had crossed our paths, Murphy would have dismembered it.  All signs pointed to normal.

After being awoken by familiar licks and a thorough thrashing by a reverberating tail, we arose to meet the day.  High clouds thinly veiled the sun, whose attempts to illuminate the world were not entirely unsuccessful.  It was time to go for a walk.  Yes, walkies were about to happen.

I rarely take Murphy for a walk and bring my camera at the same time, but the planets were in alignment on this and so the unusual union took place.  So, with camera and leash in hand, we left for our stroll.  

An erect tail spoke to the dog's status; on alert and ready for anything.  Preferably tummy rubs.  Oh, and a treat too would be nice.  That said, we were off, down the road of adventure, into the vast unknown, which looked suspiciously like a park.  Recently mowed green grass was everywhere.

We proceeded with caution.  After all, a wiener dog prefers the security of a warm lap and a blanket to hide under.  It was then that I threw caution into the wind.  I removed his leash and brought my camera out to take pictures.  What was I thinking?  There was only one inevitable outcome.  Carnage was about to ensue.  

Lying down on the grass to get a shot (dirty clothes often correspond to successful photo shoots), I was temporarily unaware of Murphy's whereabouts.  Had he gotten lost?  Could a predator have had a craving for wieners?  Perhaps the nearby lake would have claimed an innocent victim.  It was then that I started to panic.

In the bushes just in front of me came a stirring.  Rustling leaves belied the presence of some unknown creature.  Fearing for my safety, but at the same time hoping to get a great photograph, I trained my camera on the disruption.  Wanting all the help I could get, I called out in despair.  "Murphy, come."

Then, to my utter amazement, the bushes erupted in a violent commotion.  My wiener dog, the very one I feared for, bound out of hiding and came to my aid.  Had I been a villain, or possibly a mailman, my fate would have been sealed.  As it was though the bouncing dachshund attacked with a flailing tongue and wagging tail.  The gleam in his eye suggested it was a good time to play, and so play we did.  

Afterwards, when back home and under the protective encasement of a blanket, we viewed the photos I had captured.  There, amongst the many rendered images, was one worthy of song and story.  The attack of the wiener dog.  It was legendary.  Well, worthy of being made into a shirt, anyways.

Thanks for reading.

Eric Svendsen.      www.ericspix.com