I advised all of our family that when Lucille, our medium sized Dachshund, died I would never have another Dachshund in my house. Lucille was a gift to Wayne from our children. He named her after red headed Lucille Ball. When Lucille died, the kids thought their dad needed another dog to replace her. Without telling me of their plans, they sneaked a puppy in for Christmas in 1978. He was a small toy Dachshund that Wayne named "George". Wayne was elated.

George nearly created a divorce between Wayne and me. From the very start, George knew who his master was and how he could manage staying inside by sticking by Wayne's side. George always kept one eye on me and the other eye on Wayne. When Wayne moved about the house George went with him from room to room, knowing full well the monster lady might put him outside.

Wayne often hid George under the ottoman when it was time to go to bed. Before I went to bed, I always checked to see if he was still in the house. I’d say “Where is that darned dog?” George never learned. He would always wag his tail hard. It would be the only thing you would see sticking out from under the ottoman, flopping back and forth like a metronome... a dead give-away.

When he chewed something up, I got after him and he delighted in getting in the submission mode by lying on his back and peeing straight up in the air! All of the time, Wayne was rolling in laughter and egging him on! No animal pees in my house and gets by with it!

George often slipped down the hall to our bedroom and unbeknownst to us, wet on the corner of “my” side of the bed. Do you suppose that was accidental? One day, after I turned the bedspread around, Wayne complained that I had let a grandbaby nap on the bed and wet on it! I was miffed and defended my lil' darlins'. I finally found who the “grandkid” was one night when I got off balance and stepped my foot under the edge of the bed. The floor was still wet. It was Wayne's innocent little George. That incident ended the "in house living" for the lil' leaky faucet wiener dog for a while.

Another time, I found that the flounce on my new Love Seat had been chewed. Wayne defended George with fervor. I gave up the losing battle. Later, when we had our Christmas pictures developed, guess what I found? New picture evidence! There was the little mongrel lying upside down under the Love Seat chewing on the flounce.

One day, several years later, George followed Wayne down the road after a drifting snowstorm. He never came home that evening. I cried as much as anyone when he never came back. We looked and looked for him and finally gave up. Jim told us that someone saw a trucker pick George up. We hope the story was true and that someone gave him a good home.