Ziggy Read Free

when they’re old enough. Some people think we’re crazy. I tell them we are. We’re crazy about dachshunds.”
    Charles sat down right there — on a doormat with a picture of a dachshund on it — and let five of the sausage dogs squirm their way onto his lap. Four others continued to jump and twirl. They leapt up onto Aunt Amanda’s knees. It took a while, but finally the dogs began to settle down.
    “They’re great,” said Charles when it was quiet enough to talk. He had never spent much time around a dachshund before. He was dying to hold Ziggy, but Rosie didn’t look as if she wanted to let go of him quite yet. “I love their eyes. They all look so smart.”
    “Don’t they?” agreed Rosie. “I always say you can see all sorts of emotions in a dachshund’s eyes. Love, worry, happiness — it’s all there. They’re very sensitive dogs. Sometimes they even get sulky when their feelings are hurt, and you can see
that
in their eyes.”
    “What are their names?” Charles asked.
    “Let’s see. Starting with the oldest, that’s my grandma dog, Candy, over there.” Rosie waved at a white-faced dog off by herself on a bed in the corner. “Then we have Mikey, Penny, Schotzie, Bear, Sparky — she’s the spotted one — Sis, Hans — he’s kind of a bully — Pupper, Chocolate, and of course, Ziggy.”
    She kissed Ziggy’s head. “I understand you have a younger brother,” she said to Charles. “I don’t usually let my dogs go to households with young children. Dachshunds aren’t laid-back like golden retrievers. They won’t put up with having their ears pulled or their eyes poked. But Ziggygrew up around my grandnephew, so he’s used to kids.”
    “The Bean is used to dogs, too,” Charles said. The fat brown dachshund named Hans climbed into Charles’s lap and growled at the other dogs until they fled. “My brother knows he can’t pull puppies’ tails or kiss their noses or bother them when they’re eating.”
    “Very good,” said Rosie. “And you have a fenced yard?”
    Charles nodded. He told Rosie all about his family’s house and yard, and listened as she told him all about Ziggy. Ziggy wasn’t exactly spoiled, the way Princess, a Yorkie the Petersons had once fostered, had been, but Rosie did seem to have a lot to say about his likes and dislikes. “Be sure to keep an eye on him,” she finished. “Remember what I said about him being a Houdini.”
    Aunt Amanda had explained to Charles that
    Harry Houdini had been a famous magician who could escape from anywhere, no matter how people tried to lock or tie him up. Now Charles nodded.
    “Ziggy is a curious guy,” Rosie warned. “And a dachshund who likes to follow his nose is a dachshund who could end up just about anywhere. Isn’t that right, Ziggy Zigman?” She held the puppy up so she could look him in the eyes.
    Ziggy licked Rosie’s nose and wagged his tail.
    You got it, lady!
    Charles couldn’t help smiling at Ziggy’s cute expression. When would he finally get to hold him?
    “Oh, and I almost forgot. Ziggy-wiggy doesn’t like loud noises.” Rosie continued with her directions. “And he prefers to eat breakfast all by himself, without any other dogs around.”
    “Rosie,” Aunt Amanda finally said, “You couldn’t ask for a better foster family than the Petersons. They will take great care of Ziggy and they will find him a terrific home.”
    Rosie nodded. “I know. And I really am ready to send Ziggy home with Charles. But would you like to meet our newest pups before you go?”
    Still carrying Ziggy, she led them through a living room with needlepoint dachshunds on the walls, china dachshunds on the mantel, and stuffed dachshunds on the couches, then down a hall and into a big bathroom. “We use this for the whelping room, where our mom dogs have their puppies,” she said. “It’s a nice quiet place, away from the craziness of the rest of the house. The moms can take care of their newborn puppies in peace.