Dem
47
GOP
53
For the second time this week, I am going to use "I" rather than "we." And for the second time in about a month, I am going to write a piece that I've been dreading. For this one, however, I'll lead with the lede instead of putting it at the end: Staff Dachshund Otto left me late Wednesday night.
Things change fast in this world, even in the 15 years that Otto walked the earth. He came to my ex-wife and I from a pet store. Not only do (most) pet stores not carry dogs anymore, but that particular pet store is long gone, and the mall it was located in is also long gone. Otto, then about 6 months old, was in the front window with two other non-dachshunds. My ex-wife walked by, fell for him immediately, asked, in so many words, "How much is that doggie in the window?" and the deal was sealed. She called me and asked me to come over and give my approval but... c'mon. Here's what he looked like on the day he came home:
The ex-wife did not like to speak the truth of how we got Otto, and preferred to claim he came from a rescue in Las Vegas. I didn't like the lie, but didn't want to betray my then-spouse, and so walked that fine line by answering questions thusly: "Who knows where he came from? One day, I got home and there was a dachshund there." That said, I always did think of him as kind of a rescue; he was a week away from aging out, and being turned over to a shelter by the pet shop. That's why he was in the front window, and why the price was cut way down. I always told Otto we got him out of the bargain bin.
He was a purebred, and so presumably had a name assigned by his breeder. I haven't the faintest idea what it was. When he came home, my wife asked me to run down traditionally German names, and I rattled off a bunch—Ludwig, Wolfgang, Wilhelm, Friedrich... Otto. She immediately pounced on "Otto" and said it was perfect for him. She was 100% right, and many times we had various vets and vets' assistants tell us that name really captured his personality. Since he was effectively named after Otto von Bismarck, and since he was now Otto Bates, we quickly added the von in there, such that when he was addressed by his full name, it was Otto von Bates. This was usually after he'd been naughty (left), or he was trying to hide at bath time (right):
As dogs, particularly dogs of his breed, are prone to do, he had a gift for inserting himself as the center of attention. We said that he thought of himself as a little German prince, and so his real full name was Prince Otto von Bates.
That said, Staff Dachshund Flash was actually the more dignified and regal of the duo. If you had to pick a single word to describe Otto, that word would most certainly be "joy." For every day of his 15+ years, even after he had physically matured, he was 100% a puppy. He loved to play, and roll in the dirt, and zoom around the apartment. I've never seen a definitive answer from a scientist or veterinarian as to whether or not dogs actually smile, but I personally believe they do, because Otto had a near-perpetual smile on his face. At least, that's what it looks like to me:
Flash, consistent with his more regal mien, was not actually much of one for playing, or for toys, or for anything that expended a lot of energy. Or even a little energy. At the dog park, while Otto played, Flash preferred to sit and observe from a shady spot under one of the benches. The dog that Otto is wrestling with there is named Brody.
Joy is contagious, of course, and Otto "infected" many people. Me, of course, and visitors to the apartment. Bob, and then Tim, who succeeded Bob as caretaker and dog walker. People who met Otto, either at the dog park or elsewhere (a group that includes several readers of Electoral-Vote.com). Veterinary staffers always said Otto was something special, and I think they were speaking truth, and not just being polite. And, of course, Otto also brought joy to many blog readers who did not get to meet him, and knew him only through my writing about him.
Flash and Otto came to this world within a few days of each other. They became good friends while they were still pups. They spent copious amounts of time together while Bob was dog-sitting. And they lived together for 5 years after Bob passed. Now, they have left this world in close proximity to each other. The one source of comfort I have, in a time of almost unbearable pain, is the hope—also expressed in Flash's obit—that somehow, some way the universe is set up so that they are back together again, on some plane of existence, with Flash tracking squirrels, and Otto rolling in the dirt and destroying chew toys, and Bob watching over them. I hope.
Good bye, Otto. Thank you for being my best good guy for all those years. (Z)