Frieda the Wunderwiener

I love Frieda. Frieda is my mother's dachshund — a little 11 year old redhead smoothie. Saint Jerome and I were just visiting mom the other day. Usually, when we approach we hear, "barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (yes, she barks in exclamation points). We approach the apartment. Silence. I turn my keys in the locks. Silence. We enter the apartment. Silence. Are they not at home? I leave Saint Jerome in the foyer and go to mom's bedroom. There they are. Frieda starts barking and jumping all over the bed, overly excited to see me. I sit on the edge of the bed. Frieda doesn't know what to do first — lick me? flop on her back for a rub? run for a ball? She tries to do everything all at once. If I wasn't wearing my glasses, Frieda would have poked my eye out with her nose leaping at me. Mom is trying to show me where all her important papers are and Frieda is climbing all over the locked box that mom is trying to open. I need Saint Jerome because I will instantly forget where all the important papers are unless he remembers for me.I call him into the bedroom. Frieda hears in and instantly stops paying attention to me. Thump, thump, thump goes her tail against the bed and she practically falls off the bed in her eagerness to get at Saint J. Ditched by the bitch. "Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" says Frieda as Saint J concentrates on mom. "Pet her for crying out loud, Jerome!" so Saint Jerome puts his hand out. Frieda instantly starts purring (yes, she purrs in addition to barking in exclamation points). Saint Jerome pets her. She is absolutely blissful!

Business taken care of, we are all in the foyer about to go out for brunch. Frieda brings us her deflated, chewed up, defuzzed tennis ball to throw. We are slaves to the catch for the next 15 minutes or so. The ball is tossed and lands with a bounceless thud. Frieda faithfully and energetically brings it back, stopping once or twice to kill it. Thud goes the ball down the hall. Frieda comes back looking for it. She looks at mom. She looks at Jerome. She looks at me. She trots back to mom and sniffs at her hand. Mom says, "The ball is right where you were! How can you miss it?" Frieda looks under the couch where mom is sitting. She looks down the other hall. We're all pointing and yelling at Frieda where the ball is. She finally goes back to where she started from, discovers the ball and brings it back. Mom makes the excuse, Well she is 77 years old and can be allowed to be a little senile. Anyway, we take the opportunity while Frieda is in the other room to get our shoes on. She knows now that we are leaving. We go out to lunch.

While we're walking to Viand on Broadway, mom says, "Frieda walks in the shade when it's cold and the sun when it's boiling. She's a perverse dog."

I love me a perverse dachshund!