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🐾- #phoebe_dachshund
🏡 - one small house & one crazy dachshund
🎁 - 9/Nov/2018
❤️ - loves sleep, her toys, & the beach ⛱️

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roaring into sunday!

and by roaring, i mean standing perfectly still in the autumn leaves while questioning every decision that led to this moment.

i have been bundled, hooded, photographed, and subjected to the great outdoors. apparently, this is what passes for a relaxing sunday in this household.

do i look like a fierce woodland predator? absolutely.

am i prepared to hunt? again, absolutely.

will i be hunting anything other than my heating pad, a warm blanket, and an unsuspecting snack? absolutely not.

the queen of the jungle has spoken. now open the door. my throne awaits.🐾

#phoebe_dachshund #poweredbydachshunds #weenattitude #sundaysass #autumnadventures

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oh. is that you, friday?

forgive my appearance. i was preparing for the long weekend.

yes, i'm aware it's not a long weekend. but in my world, everything is long.

long naps. long sighs. long lists of grievances. and an exceptionally long recovery period from this morning's forced exercise.

i was walked until my little legs nearly filed for retirement, then collapsed into a winter nap.

yes, i know it's october. my body doesn't recognize your calendar.

and now here you are, friday. barging in at almost noon, expecting me to be conscious, charming, and available for public interaction.

thou shalt not disturb the ween.

unless you've brought snacks.

in which case, kindly announce yourself to my nose.🐾

#phoebe_dachshund #poweredbydachshunds #fridayween #dachshunddrama #professionallyoffended

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thursday ick.

get. it. off.

it touched me.

a leaf.

a deceased, crunchy, free-range piece of tree debris made unsolicited contact with my royal ween person.

i beg your finest pardon?!

i was simply existing in my little blue floral coat when autumn decided to launch a full-scale botanical attack.

and there you stand.

laughing.

taking pictures.

documenting my distress like this is some sort of seasonal entertainment.

madam, i am a dachshund of considerable importance. i have standards. i have boundaries. i have approximately four inches of ground clearance.

i did not agree to become one with nature.

and now there's something touching my ankle.

MY ANKLE.

i may never emotionally recover.

remove the foliage. summon my heating pad. prepare the cheese.

and kindly inform the trees that further contact will result in a strongly worded letter.

thursday is canceled.

i shall be indoors, recovering from this completely unnecessary encounter with the outdoors.

with great disgust, phoebe🐾

#phoebe_dachshund #powerbydachshunds
#ick #thursdaydrama #weenproblems

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the dreaded afternoon walkies.

tsk. tsk. tsk.

she thinks she's clever.

she calls it walkies.

WALKIES.

as though adding a cute little ending to the word somehow disguises the HORRORS of what she's actually proposing.

EXERCISE.

physical exertion. voluntary movement. the unnecessary relocation of a perfectly comfortable ween.

MA'AM.

i have legs the length of cocktail sausages and a body built for blankets, not endurance sports.

and yet, here she comes.

"phoebe, wanna go walkies?"

DOES THIS FACE LOOK LIKE IT WANTS TO GO WALKIES?!

i am wrapped in fleece. i am warm. i am emotionally unavailable for cardiovascular activities.

call it walkies. call it fresh air. call it a little adventure.

i know a forced fitness program when i hear one.

and frankly, i would like to speak to management.

unfortunately, management is holding the leash.🐾

#phoebe_dachshund #powerbydachshunds
#walk #wednesdayween #drama

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i don't want to taco 'bout it.

the betrayal. the audacity. the absolute disrespect.

welcome to the tuesday trials of a fat ween and her deeply traumatic, completely unsolicited workout saga.

apparently, my mother woke up today and chose violence. she called it "exercise." i call it a direct attack on my dignity, my delicate constitution, and my constitutional right to remain horizontal.

first of all, i did not consent to this fitness journey.

secondly, i am not fat. i am a generously proportioned tortilla of love, and i will not be accepting further commentary on my figure.

thirdly, madam, have you SEEN my legs?! they are approximately two inches long. what you call a "little walk," i call an expedition across the continental united states.

i was forced to move my entire body. OUTSIDE. with no chauffeur, no emotional support cheese, and absolutely no compensation for my suffering.

and the worst part? she had the audacity to tell me i did a "good job."

a GOOD JOB?! ma'am, i nearly perished.

i have since retreated into my emotional support tortilla, where i shall remain until my legal team has reviewed the situation and a formal apology has been issued.

i am not speaking to my mother. unless she opens the refrigerator. then i may reconsider.

taco tuesday? more like trauma tuesday.

send cheese. send a lawyer. send thoughts and prayers.

and somebody, please tell my mother that round is a shape.🐾

#phoebe_dachshund #powerbydachshunds #tacotuesday #weendrama #burritoween

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it's monday. with a capital MON.

my ears are on airplane mode, my paws are off duty, and no, i'm not changing out of my flashy hot pink fleece.

call it lazy. i call it survival.

just a ween in a cruel, monday-loving world.

corn chips, anyone?

fresh from the paws. you're welcome.🐾

#phoebe_dachshund #poweredbydachunds
#mondaymood #corn #sassyween

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this is the face of a dachshund who has been exercised.

my ears have been wind-blown. my little legs have put in their miles. my body is tired. my spirit is questionable.

and my football team?

we are not discussing it.

actually, yes. we are.

i'm still trying to process yesterday's loss without becoming the bitter, judgmental, emotionally unstable little ween that everyone knows lives inside this tiny sausage casing.

i have questions.

primarily, why did we even board the bus?

why did we get on the plane?

why did we travel all that way to do whatever that was?!

was it football?

was it interpretive dance?

was it a sightseeing excursion with complimentary shoulder pads?!

i have seen better coordination from three squirrels fighting over an acorn.

but what do i know?

i'm not a player.

i'm not a coach.

i'm just a ween.

living in a ween world.

with four decorative legs, windblown ears, and the emotional resilience of a wet paper towel.

and now it's sunday.

which means tomorrow is doomsday.

i mean monday.

monday.

the day nobody asked for, nobody invited, and yet somehow keeps showing up like an unpaid bill.

so here i lie.

wrapped in my blanket.

staring into the abyss.

having what can only be described as an

i can't believe it's not butter moment.

because i can't believe it's not saturday.

i can't believe we lost.

and i really can't believe somebody expects me to participate in another entire week.

please respect my privacy during this difficult time.

unless you have snacks.

then we can talk.🐾

phoebe

#phoebe_dachshund #poweredbydachshunds #sundaymood #collegefootball #tinyweenbigfeelings

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dear october,

excuse me. what in the frostbitten, pumpkin-spiced nonsense is going on out here?! 🍂🎃

stop trying to copy december.

really?! come on.

be your own month.

be that big, beautiful, orange flaming ball of pumpkin that i know you want to be.

you had one job.

crunchy leaves. golden sunshine. pleasantly crisp air. pumpkins minding their pumpkin business.

that was the agreement.

instead, here i stand, a tiny, innocent ween, dressed like a retired ski instructor on her way to a bingo tournament.

i am wearing a knitted sweater with a hood.

with a pom-pom.

in october.

do you understand how many inches of ween i have to work with?!

my belly is approximately three blades of grass from the frozen tundra. my little legs are basically decorative at this point. one gust of wind and my entire undercarriage files a formal complaint.

i have approximately four inches of ground clearance and the thermal insulation of a grocery bag.

this is a violation of my tiny-ween rights.

santa has december. let that jolly, cookie-hoarding trespasser stay in his own lane.

i do not want to hear sleigh bells.

i do not want to see frost.

i do not want my morning potty break to feel like an expedition across the arctic circle.

i want leaves.

i want pumpkins.

i want to pee without my little bahookie freezing to the lawn.

and another thing.

who authorized the wind?!

i am ten ish pounds of concentrated outrage wrapped in a sweater. i should not have to brace myself against a weather event just to sniff a suspicious leaf.

i demand an explanation.

i demand accountability.

i demand a warm blanket, three snacks, and someone to carry me back inside immediately.

october, you have been served with a cease-and-desist from the department of extremely small, extremely grumpy ween.

get your pumpkin together.🐾

sincerely,

phoebe

a tiny, furious, seasonally betrayed ween whose patience is shorter than her legs.

#phoebe_dachshund #poweredbydachshunds #collegefootball #tinyweenproblems #octobergetyourpumpkintogether

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the friday chronicles: phoebe's near-death experience

i see your friday.

and i raise you 23 blankets, one heating pad, and a formal complaint against the entire concept of winter.

mother.

mother, are you listening?!

i have suffered.

i have sacrificed.

i have dragged my precious, delicate, sausage-shaped body into the frozen wilderness to "run" my laps.

run?!?!

ma'am. i was fleeing for my life.

the wind attacked me.

the cold assaulted my bahookie.

my tiny little toe beans nearly snapped clean off.

and my undercarriage?!

my undercarriage was practically skimming the arctic tundra.

i saw my ancestors.

they told me to turn around.

and after all that?!

no snacks.

not one emergency cheese.

not one pity treat.

not even a microscopic crumb of compensation for my emotional distress.

just cold.

more cold.

and the audacity of being expected to walk back inside on my own four legs.

i am now buried beneath 23 blankets, clinging to my heating pad like a victorian widow clutching her last earthly possession.

do not disturb me.

do not ask me to potty.

do not even whisper the word "outside."

i have survived unspeakable horrors.

i am but a fragile, frozen little ween.

a victim of the elements.

a hero without a medal.

a sausage without a snack.

should i perish beneath this mountain of fleece, tell the world i was brave.

tell them i was beautiful.

tell them i was horribly underfed.

and tell mother

she still owes me cheese

respectfully,

phoebe
survivor. frostbite enthusiast against my will. professional blanket burrower. currently accepting cheese, heated accommodations, and financial compensation for pain and suffering.

p.s. if anyone needs me, don't.
p.p.s. unless you have cheese.
p.p.p.s. i can hear the cheese drawer from under here.

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thursday.

i'm done.

the rain got me.

my paw is a prune. my undercarriage is damp. my dignity has been washed down the storm drain.

i have suffered unspeakable moisture.

i was once a proud, dry ween. now i am a soggy little sausage with raisin toes and absolutely no will to participate in society.

do not ask me to go outside again.

do not speak to me of puddles.

i have seen things. wet things.

thursday, you soggy-bottom, crabby, miserable excuse for a day.

i demand blankets, snacks, and compensation for emotional water damage.

a very damp story by one deeply inconvenienced ween.🐾

#phoebe_dachshund #powerbydachshunds
#rain #soggybottom #thursdaytales

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wednesday.
a strawberry story.

sometimes desperation calls for clinging to the last precious moments of summer.

even when the outside says, “absolutely not. summer is over. put on a sweater.”

but what about the strawberries?
the sunshine?
the warm little breezes?
the emotional well-being of one itty-bitty little ween?

does nobody care?!

here i am, dressed like a tiny summer strawberry, desperately trying to manifest 80 degrees while october rudely continues being october.

my little legs are cold.
my summer dreams are shattered.
and apparently, the weather has absolutely no respect for a delicate seasonal fruit.

take pity on the itty-bitty little ween.

because i am just a very, very small strawberry living in a very, very big world.

a world filled with cold weather, unreasonable expectations, and a V-E-T who recently had the audacity to call me F-A-T.

yes. i know what that spells.

i can S-P-E-L-L.

did they think spelling it out would protect my delicate little strawberry feelings?!

i was right there.

with ears.

and feelings.

and a perfectly respectable strawberry-shaped figure.

the betrayal was enormous.
much like my alleged waistline.

but i refuse to let a little autumn weather and one extremely judgmental medical professional crush my summer spirit.

i am not emotionally prepared for sweater weather.

i am not emotionally prepared for dietary restrictions.

i am just a strawberry.
a very, very small strawberry.
living in a very, very big world.

with very large feelings.

and apparently, according to the V-E-T, a very large everything else.🐾

the end.

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tuesday: the day of phoebe, one fat ween

this is the end. again.

hold your breath and count to ten.

the vet told me i was fat. again.

not fluffy. not voluptuous. not a generously proportioned sausage of exceptional beauty.

fat.

and apparently, the answer is exercise.

exercise.

i beg your finest pardon.

i am a delicate flower. a rare jewel. a tiny, emotionally fragile victorian widow trapped inside the body of a slightly overstuffed bratwurst.

i was not built for such barbaric activities.

my legs are decorative. my paws are for demanding snacks. my body was designed for horizontal excellence.

the end is near, my friends.

the exercise is the end, my friend.

first, they reduced my treats. then they questioned my portions. and now they expect me to walk? on purpose? without a cheese-based incentive?

what fresh circle of hell is this?

i have endured unspeakable suffering in my short, beautiful life.

breakfast arriving three minutes late.

a blanket that wasn't properly preheated.

being told i'd already had a treat when clearly that treat was from an entirely different emotional era.

and now this.

my own family has joined forces with the veterinary establishment to destroy everything i hold dear.

i fear i shall not survive the journey from the couch to the kitchen.

should i collapse after seven steps? please do not weep. remember me as i was: majestic, round, and magnificently snack-motivated.

tell my blankets i loved them.

tell my heating pad it was my greatest romance.

tell the cheese drawer that every moment we shared was real.

and tell the squirrels. they have won.

i shall now retire to my orthopedic throne, where i will stare mournfully into the distance and contemplate the cruel injustice of being an extremely beautiful ween in a world obsessed with waistlines.

please respect my privacy during this difficult time.

unless you have snacks.

then come immediately.

tuesday. a tragedy in seventeen emotional breakdowns, three dramatic sighs, and one medically recommended walk.🐾

phoebe, the fat ween
survivor. victim. misunderstood icon.
currently accepting condolences in the form of cheese.

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