Last month, I briefly relocated to a retirement village in southwest Florida for a week and a half. My afternoons were spent with cocktails poolside while the octogenarian set did their water aerobics with strategically placed pool noodles between their legs. I could play shuffle board or Bocce ball until sundown if I wanted to do so. I dined at all the best blue plate special restaurants and knew where the best bingo and penny slot parlors were. Truth be told, the reality of the situation was that my two older sisters and I went down to Florida to visit my father who developed some serious complications after a minor surgery.

Regardless, I pretended as though I had taken an early retirement from my life back in Indiana. So what if we ate dinner at 3:30 and were in bed at 9:00 p.m. It certainly beat toiling away hours working at the library. Even though it was relaxing, my trip away also meant that I was a retired dachshund owner for that period of time.

I have gone away for extended weekends but nothing like the eleven days I was in Florida. If I could have taken them with me, I would have. Before I left, I tried explaining the situation to them, and they knew that their Auntie Matt and Keegan would be there for them. I almost did that thing where you sleep in a t-shirt for a few nights so they can have your scent with them if they get lonely. I also thought about recording my voice so they wouldn’t forget what I sounded like, but then I feared they would bond with a tape recorder or be inspired to attack it.

On my second night, I woke up from a deep sleep desperately feeling around the blankets for the puppies. I have developed some super dog owner sense that allows me to know when all three puppies are in bed even if I am asleep. At home, if the puppies aren’t in bed, then they are up to trouble.

On the fifth day, we sat outside a convenience store where I spotted a woman walking a dachshund. I resisted jumping out of the car screaming, “I have two wieners. Can I pet yours?” Seriously, whenever I see someone with a dachshund, I have the need to let them know that I am dachshund owner too. I think it is more territorial than for bonding purposes. Later, I saw the same woman put her dachshund into a shoulder bag and carry it into the store. I kept asking my sisters, “Can you do that here?”

It so happened that my birthday happened while I was in Florida. Coincidentally, it was also Easton’s first birthday, which I hated missing. Okay on his adoption papers, it says that his birthday is estimated to be May 30th, but I like to think that maybe he was born two days earlier on my birthday, like it was kismet that we were together. I think I am allowed to tell people that we share the same day. My sisters gave me cards with dachshunds on them, which made me miss my own even more.

I expected puppy pandemonium when I got home. I pictured Carlisle so excited that his barks turned into long stretched out howls or that he would pee a little. I figured Easton would run around manically trying to figure out the best angle to give me aggressive kisses. When I actually got home, they both ran into the kitchen without a single bark. They were excited, but it was not the ticker tape parade I thought I would get. It was pretty much the greeting I get whenever I come home from work. Hell, the yorkie was more excited to see me.