Four plus four is eight

With the arrival of Dixie's pups our dachshund count is up to eight. I know in my heart, that two people working sixty hours  a piece have no business with this many dogs. I've tried really hard not to get attached, but the puppies have such different personalities. Peanut is goofy. He's always nursing upside down or biting someone's tail or my foot. Hershey likes to hear himself bark and growl and he really doesn't miss his turn at the food dish. DJ has no fear and she loves to escape whatever cage/pen/bed I have her in. If I hear the pitter patter of little paws in the middle of the night, it's DJ. Always. Queen B is the sweetest little puppy ever. She was the biggest at birth, but she'd rather sleep than eat. She loves fresh blankets out of the dryer and cuddling.  Lots of cuddling.  I love these pups each in their own way. Too much maybe.
I got to thinking.  Maybe I could keep one of them if one of the older four left. But which one? Oscar was the first and other than his weight problem, he's the most perfect dog. He loves other people, other dogs, and even cats. No way. Definitely not Oscar. Dixie is a pain in the ass. She whines to be held, to be patted. She runs rabbits and will disappear at the drop of a hat. I'll get upset that she's gone. Then, I'll find her. She'll jump in my arms and lay her head on my shoulder and we'll be best buds again.  She pisses me off, but she makes me feel so loved. Not Dixie. She's my girl. Maybe Harley? Then I watch him do something goofy. Like sit straight up and watch tv or play with his pups. Harley won't eat his treat in the kitchen.  I have to take it to him. He'll sit and watch me give the other's their's but he has to have his taken to him. He also barks to come in. If I had a dollar for every time Harley made me laugh, I could retire yesterday. Harley isn't going anywhere.  That only leaves Sampson. Still a puppy himself. A long haired puppy. I never wanted along hair, but he's soft and snuggly. So far, I've resisted the temptation to put bows in his hair. So far. He's so pretty. I worry about him alot because he is so young so I try to keep him close. Sometimes he runs out of sight and I can call his name as long as I want, but when I  yell where's my good boy? He comes running as fast as his little legs can run. He'll usually jump in my arms and I have to quit telling him he's such a good boy because apparently that's doggie language for kiss your human with big sloppy kisses all over her face. Heaven help me he's not quite eight months and I've fallen hard.
The babies will go to their new homes in three weeks.  I'll be as ready as I  can be and I pray there new humans will live them as much as I do.

This the season

It's time to hunt morel mushrooms. I'm so proud of myself.  I've found some by myself. Not a bunch, but some. Those mushrooms are hard to find. In hollers, steep hollers on wet or damp hill sides. Sides rhymes with slides for a reason. An hour or two fighting brush and trying to keep my balance I'm done. Then we get home and fry them up. OMG so delicious.  Then I'm ready to go again.

The Snuggle is real

It should come as no surprise that I check on Dixie and the pups multiple times a day. Hershey likes to go for a walk about even though his eyes have not opened yet. If I hear somebody upset about a cold tile floor. It's him. Most of the time when I peep in on them, Dixie is curled up nursing but every once in a while, she goes into what I call over drive. She jumps out of the basket and runs circles around me barking as loudly as possible.  I've learned to just pick her up. At which time, she puts her head on my shoulder and snuggles as closely as she can. I hold her, pet her, and tell her how much I  really love her. Sometimes I tell her what a great mommy she is and how proud I am of her. We sit that way for awhile.  I think she needs this and I know sometimes I do too.