“What sort of toilet water do you have on tap today?”
The reader looked long and hard at my little footsie. “I see you just went through a difficult time. . . .”
“Yes, yes,” I replied. “I just had surgery. All better now though! I assume my future must hold many rewards for me?!”
“Well, I’m predicting you will have many . . .” she said, stalling.
“Many what?!” I demanded eagerly. “Squirrels? Squeaky balls? Swooning ladies? Statues??”
“Ah, I see it now!” she said. “You will have many baths, because the streets here in New Orleans are disgustingly dirty. . . .”
Argh!
For our week there, we pretty much did everything all the New Orleans tourists do. Eat, drink, walk around, and eat some more.
I visited The Bulldog beer tavern for some tasty local brews. . . .
Had a hot dog at Dat Dog . . .
Was a naughty dog on Bourbon Street . . .
And was a regular dog in the beautiful City Park, which is where I happened upon a particularly enticing squirrel. . . . In fact, I don’t think I’ve even chased a squirrel since my surgery!
Now, visiting a cemetery would not generally be high on my list, but it’s something New Orleans is especially known for, and with many ghost tales to boot!
I was a little apprehensive, but especially so when I discovered this cemetery of St. Roch is known for the ghost of a dog; all-black and unnaturally large who wanders among the tombstones at night.
As our guide went on to explain why their cemeteries use above-ground tombs (vaults) as opposed to burying their dead (you don’t want to know why!), I snuck off while everyone else wasn’t paying attention.
When they were least expecting it, I jumped out at them with a ghostly bark as the St. Roch ghost dog!
The gang of them fell backward over themselves in terror. Dad almost died of fright, and Mum nearly had a heart attack from the fact I had cut up the curtains from our Airbnb rental.
Now I know what you’re thinking, swamps and wiener dogs don’t mix, but you should know I am not scared of anything except vacuum cleaners, cabbage, and poor fashionwear. THOSE are scary.
“‘Boof!’ That’s a boo and woof together.”
Despite the guide assuring us there was no danger of a gator attacking our kayak, Dad kept me close.
I must say though, for such an unappealing name as “swamp,” there is an understated beauty to this place.
Maybe I’ve been watching too much southern reality TV, but I felt I had to try my paw at gator huntin’.
“See any down there, Ma?”
That’s when a big sucker swam right under the kayak.
*Pow pow*
I got him! He weighed a whopping 250 pounds by my estimation, but with the added strength of my Wolverine bones, I yanked him right out of the water as if he were a little plush toy.
“We’re going to be squeakin’ good tonight!” I told everyone.
Keep spookin’,Crusoe
Germany
I was so excited—my ancestral homeland; of course, dachshund meaning “badger dog” in German. However, I was also a bit apprehensive as I’ve heard there are many wire haired dachshunds here. If you know me, you know I’ve had some trust issues with them.
We arrived in Frankfurt, from where we headed straight to Rothenburg ob der Tauber, a picturesque little village well known for being one of the best preserved medieval walled cities.
However, before arriving I did a bit of quick internet research that revealed that everyone here wears lederhosen, so that was the only type of clothes I packed.
Unfortunately, as it turns out, most people wear regular clothes. Talk about a doofus tourist . . .
In the picture from the start of this chapter, I am sitting at the Plönlein Corner, one of the most iconic picture ops in this town, region, and sometimes, all of Germany! In fact, the guidebook Mum refers to for Germany features a photo of this same scene on the cover.
One of the very first things I had to do was try an authentic German beer. It had barely touched my chops when I was telling Dad to order me another one!
I wasn’t sure if it was because of all the beer I was drinking or just because I’m a wiener, or some combination of both, but some soldiers subsequently came and arrested me with charges of disorderly conduct and indecent exposure.
They threw me in the stocks for 24 hours.
I knew this town was medieval, but I didn’t realize it was quite this much! Luckily, I was able to slip out of that thing quite easily as soon as they turned away.
One of the most interesting features of Rothenburg is that you can walk along the ramparts of the original medieval wall, peering through the same arrow slits that soldiers once used to defend this town with their bows and other weapons.
“Come on lads, we must defend the wall! Draw thy sword and bare thy teeth, the wire haired horde is attacking again!”
That’s when my cell phone started ringing from underneath my armor, throwing me out of character.
It was a fan in Berlin, who happened to work as the editor for Fuhrstuckfen-sumthin—essentially, Germany’s (and actually Europe’s) most-watched morning show. They wanted to fly me over to be on the show, which would also give me an opportunity to explore Berlin!
So, before I knew it, there I was, tromping around the German capital!
Here I am posing at the wall; what’s so special about it I didn’t know; we have plenty of graffiti-covered walls back home, too!
I also had to try the Wiener schnitzel I had heard so much about. I was expecting it to be some type of sausage (hence the “wiener”), yet, it was completely flat.
“So, this is what happens to wieners when they get schnitzel’ed. . . .”
With bellies full, we marched onward with our Berlin explorations, down tight sidewalks and busy street corners. Mum always made sure to keep me on a short leash, even picking me up when needed (so I didn’t get schnitzel’ed of course).
We soon found ourselves at the Reichstag, their house of parliament.
With so many tourists around, Dad warned me to, “Keep watch for pickpockets.”
Which is exactly why I wore my fanny pack and kept a close eye out for wire haired dachshunds. Statistically, they represent about 100% of all pickpockets.
Thankfully, none of our belongings went missing.
After my interview the next morning, I bade my farewell to the editor who had invited us with a fat smooch upside the kisser.
“Beethoven, the famous German composer, was best known for the ‘symphonies of his people,’ which were orchestral performances including mostly barking and very little instruments.”
Then we were off to Baden-Baden to spend the rest of our stay in the ominous-sounding Black Forest.
This is a place for the rich and famous, a longtime aristocratic playground that attracts the wealthiest Germans, Russians, and Arabs, who come for its renowned spas and gambling.
“Perfectly camouflaged as a black dog in a Black Forest. The squirrels here don’t stand a chance!”
It’s safe to say this town is a little pretentious and full of itself, and therefore, also safe to say I fit in just fine.
It was quite pretty, though, with beautiful hotels, gardens, and a lovely green promenade along a cobblestone streambed with flower-adorned bridges arching across it.
Since it was quite hot, the shallow stream was the perfect refreshment.
Yet, the end goal of our walk (as planned by Mum) was the Café König where they serve up their famous Black Forest cake! Mmm . . .
In fact, the cake alone was pretty much why Mum wanted to come to the Black Forest!
While driving around the cute little villages, we noticed one house in particular looked a little different. . . . As it happens, it wasn’t a house but a giant cuckoo clock, with the mechanized wooden cogwheels and everything inside!
When I saw the time, I couldn’t help but yawn. It was way past my
naptime.
“We should buy a cuckoo clock!” Mum said afterward, to which Dad agreed. So, we went to visit the factory itself where you can find the best prices.
I don’t know how anyone could ever decide which clock to buy, though. All that clicking, ticking, cuckoo’ing, clucking, and thinking had my head spinning!
“I think I’ll stick to a simpler sort of souvenir,” I said, not even realizing my own pun.
Back in Baden-Baden, I had to get a taste of the high life I kept seeing all around me. So over to the casino we went, the most bedazzling, high-class establishment I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I couldn’t show up by myself though, so I found a local girl named Doggi on a casual dating website to join me for the evening. Her profile photo must have been from like 20 years ago though, because she looked just a tad bit older than her picture. . . .
“I bought a castle, installed a Bone Throne, and named myself king of Wienerfell!”
Not that that was a problem. I love all kinds of ladies.
“How about some roulette?” I asked, in my manliest 007-esque voice. She made a peep noise that I assumed to be a yes.
We hopped up onto the table, and I introduced myself to the dealer. “Name’s Dog, James Dog.” Then I turned to the nearby server, “And I’ll take a toilet water martini, swirled, not flushed.”
Turning back to the dealer, I said, “15,000 euros on number 17. My lucky number, not to mention the age of my beautiful lady friend here.”
The wheel spun, which was hypnotic in the way the ball went around and around.
*Click* The ball dropped. It was number 17. I won, I couldn’t believe it! Poor Doggi couldn’t see or hear very well, so in a moment of selfishness, I didn’t tell her.
“Oh darn!” I said aloud.
Just in time to celebrate my win, my martini arrived, swirled to perfection with a hot dog slice for garnish.
With luck on my side, I was smart enough to know to cash out, so we headed over to the cashier. I pushed my massive stack of 5,000 euro chips over to him.
“Will you be taking cash or cookies?” the man asked.
“Cookies of course,” I said, and he began counting them out. It took a while, but by this time my good sense had come back to me, and I decided to split the win with Doggi. She was so surprised we won, but because of her dentures she couldn’t eat hard cookies anyway.
Dad, however, was upset when he found out I didn’t take the cash, so we decided to use the cookies to gamble some more at the famous race track, where jockeys, horses, and fancy hat people come from all over the world to watch the spectacle.
The race track welcomed me as their VIP guest for the day—probably because they noticed my pockets bulging with so many hard biscuits.
As we each looked over the horse names and their odds, I told Dad to write in the horse name of “Crusoe” on his betting card for the upcoming race. Then I slipped away.
As the next race began, the announcer could be heard over the speaker system saying:
And they’re off! SeaStar is out in front with a strong start, but Daisy is catching up quickly—and oh wait, what is this? We have a new horse closing in quick from far behind . . . now he’s upon them . . . now in the pack, and oh my, he’s taken the lead. Just got word this horse’s name is Crusoe!
And to the finish line, in the clear lead, yes, it’s Crusoe!
I rejoined Mum and Dad. “Wow, did you see that? I just had a feeling about that horse!”
“Yes . . .” Mum said, slyly looking at me from the corner of her eye. “That horse did look strangely familiar, wouldn’t you say?”
“Familiar in that he’s a sexy beast of a stallion and lightning fast, yes,” I said coolly, as I collected my haul of ever-more cookies.
The final event to mark the end of my trip to Germany was a meetup with my fans in Frankfurt. By this time, I was feeling as German as a German dog can get, so I pulled up to the event in a Volkswagen convertible, clad with matching feathered alpine hat and all.
There were people from all around; Germany, Switzerland, Holland, tourists visiting from abroad, and Americans from the military bases. One guy even came up to me and handed me his card and a U.S. Secret Service pin and said, “I saw your James Bond video. If you’re ever looking to change profession, give me a call,” and then quickly disappeared back into the crowd before I even had a chance to reply.
Whether or not I subsequently gave him a call, I can’t tell you. Super-friendly guy though, very chatty.
The excitement of the meetup was dampened by the fact that there were a few wire haired dachshunds sleuthing about, which could mean trouble. I decided to set a bit of a trap to test their trustworthiness once and for all. So, I filled my fanny pack with some of my cookie winnings and placed it on the ground behind me.
While in the midst of taking photos with a nice family, I turned my head to see one of the most wiry weasels I’d ever seen nose deep in my fanny pack!
“Well, well,” I said, catching the thief red-handed. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Oh, Crusoe!” she stuttered with surprise. She was a woman, as I noticed by her voice (otherwise with that beard and those eyebrows I would have figured her for a scraggly old man).
“Oh, what? You thought you could steal my hard-won cookies did you?!”
“Actually,” she said before I could continue berating her. “I wasn’t stealing your cookies. I was going to leave my phone number in there in the hopes you’d give me a call. I think . . . I think, you’re cute.”
I was so taken aback I didn’t even know what to say.
“So . . . you weren’t trying to steal my stuff?” I asked skeptically. “Not even attempting to borrow something without permission? Maybe just trying to rearrange my belongings? Or perhaps you were going to prank me with one of your poop bags in there?”
“No, I just wanted to give you my number!”
Then it hit me. “Aha! I know, you were going to give me the number of a criminal organization that would subsequently implicate me once I called it!”
“No, it’s mine, I swear! Try calling it!”
So, I did, and guess what? Her wiry caboose started vibrating with a muted buzzing sound. It appeared she was telling the truth. A moment of regret and realization came over me.
“So, you think I’m cute?” I asked, and with that, I invited her to chat over a cup of coffee, but not before discreetly telling Mum to call off the Polizei who were already on route.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Heidi,” she replied. I’ll admit, she wasn’t my typical type—being wire haired and all, but she had a certain charm about her. She then continued in her cute Bavarian accent, “Did you know I went to the groomer yesterday so I could look nice for meeting you?”
“Really?” I was legitimately shocked. “Never would have guessed . . . I actually thought you just stepped out of a dryer or something,” I said, instantly regretting it.
“Yes,” she laughed, “we do have a certain look about us,” and with that she gave a puff of air that hefted her long eyebrows away from her eyes, and in that moment, I saw beyond her wiry exterior for the first time.
Her eyes were a beautiful hazelnutty brown, and I instantly complimented her.
She smiled, and her eyebrows flopped back over. I smiled, too.
It was then that she very gently nibbled at the pretzel we were sharing, barely eating even a mouthful. I couldn’t believe it. This was the first time in my life that my date didn’t scarf down her food in front of me. It was . . . refreshing.
Yet, my time with her was waning, even though a part of me wanted to stay and get to know her more. We bade our last farewells from across the table. I was never open to the idea of falling for a wire haired girl before, but she had opened my eyes—even though I hardly ever saw hers.
I still have her number, though. Perhaps I’ll give her a call sometime, depending how things turn out with Paisley, and if Dad’s not too cheap t
o cover the calling fees.
Keep lovin’,Crusoe
“Tweety Bird? Nope, haven’t seen him.”
“Hey guys, don’t forget me!”
Rededication
After going through the process of writing this book, I would like to rescind my earlier dedication.
My new and official dedication is to my beautiful Mum …
for her patience, love, devotion, kindness, for her kisses, even when I don’t totally appreciate them, but mostly for feeding me on time every day.
Afterword, by Dad
The past couple years have been nothing less than an adventure for our little family. We never would have guessed that Crusoe would captivate the eyes of so many, or that we’d be traveling and exploring such amazing places with us by his side, or that we’d witness lines of hundreds of people waiting hours just to meet OUR little dog. I still pinch myself.
It’s all about him, though. If one person out of 700 asks for a photo with my girlfriend and me, we’re lucky. Yet, we don’t mind. We’re both very laid-back, quiet, and introverted people; the type to stay behind the camera, not in front of it. That was the case anyway, until we started getting requests for media interviews and appearances. Since Crusoe doesn’t talk in public, I had to fill in for him, and boy, was that a personal development story for myself! I like to think I’m passable on camera now, but I’ll never be as photogenic as he is. I still remember one morning we came in for an interview on Breakfast Television. We arrived in the back room where they put me into makeup right away. Once done, we sat together, waiting for our call to go on, when the producer came in to check on us. She took one look at me and said, “This guy needs to get into makeup.”
Crusoe, the Worldly Wiener Dog Page 7