One summer, I was on my way to visit my family after my daughter invited me to come up for a visit in her little mountain town. It was about a four-hour-long drive, and my dogs loved road trips as much as I loved visiting my grandkids.
My Muttley Crew settled into my Chevy HHR like seasoned travelers, tiny bodies tucked into their favorite spots, noses pointed towards the windows. It was fun to watch the pair take in the views as the scenery slowly changed from dry open plains to rolling hills to beautiful mountain vistas that made you forget how long you had been sitting in the car.
By the time we reached Fairplay, I wanted nothing more than to stretch my legs and then grab some lunch. After walking around the little town a bit, we stopped at a local cafe. Since Max and Mitzi were small enough, I stuffed them into a tiny carrier that looked like a purse, stood in line, and ordered a chicken sandwich and an iced tea.
Now, Mitzi loved riding quietly in the purse. She was perfectly content to sit there like a tiny queen, waiting for her lunch to be served. Max, on the other hand, never quite got used to the cramped quarters. In his mind, he should be on his leash, out in the world, greeting people, sniffing old wooden floors, and inspecting every corner of the tiny restaurant.
As his patience grew thin, my unhappy dachshund began to squirm and whine, grumbling about his latest predicament, and betraying my covert operation. Customers turned to look, and the staff smiled. Before long, everyone wanted a peek at whatever was making noise inside my purse.
When I unzipped a small opening, two little faces peeked out of the purse. The cafe filled with laughter, and from that moment on, I received the gold standard of service.
Once I settled on the outside patio, where dogs were welcome, the staff brought my lunch, a bowl of water, and even some turkey for my babies. The little town was busy that day, and people kept stopping by to pet my mini dachshunds. And of course, my puppies soaked up every bit of the attention and paid for it with wagging tails and endless kisses.
After lunch, we headed back to the car. I was more than ready to get up the mountain and see my family. Max and Mitzi could feel the excitement too, and they quickly settled and watched from their favorite perches.
We steadily climbed Hoosier Pass, where the pines grew thicker, the air turned crisp, and the mountains opened wide to a staggering view. My breath caught. Peaks rose in the distance, the valley stretched below, and the Blue River flashed in the sunlight.
From there, the road wound down the mountain towards the town of Breckinridge, then on through Frisco and Silverthorne. The towns were busy, the traffic was slow, and I was impatient to be on my way. The pups, however, watched and whined at every passing car, every stroller, every cyclist, and every tourist as if they were personally responsible for greeting the entire state of Colorado.
After leaving Silverthorne behind, the radio faded in and out, and I shoved an Eagles CD into the player and let music fill the car. The landscape changed again, growing drier and more open. Even though I was only about 40 miles away, that last stretch always felt like the longest. Maybe it was because I missed the pines, or maybe it was because I could hardly wait to hold my grandbabies.
By the time I rolled into town, Max and Mitzi were wide awake and bouncing with excitement. As soon as I turned off the main street and onto the back roads, they began whining and barking as they always did when they knew we were close.
I pulled into the driveway, and before I could even gather my bags, the grandkids came running out, happy to see me, and even happier to welcome my dogs. There was just something special about arriving at a house full of family where the doors open before you even knock, and the people you love rush out to greet you.
Before long, the bags were inside, the dogs had made their joyful rounds, and the first rush of greetings had settled into the comfortable noise of family as everyone talked at once. I sank down on the couch, happy to finally be there. Mitzi, never one to shy away from attention, hopped up beside me and made herself at home.
Cameron sat beside me, eager to hold my little dog. Mitzi was ecstatic, wiggling, bouncing, and giving kisses as fast as she could. Cameron laughed so hard and turned his face away. But Mitziei was determined. Every time he moved, she followed, her tiny tail wagging as she tried to sneak in just one more kiss.
As Cameron continued to laugh, Mitzi’s tongue darted into his mouth. Everyone in the room froze as they witnessed Cameron’s surprise. But in no time, he started laughing, and without missing a beat, my grandson delivered the perfect one-liner, “ Great, my first French kiss was with Honey’s dog, Mitzi!”
The room exploded in laughter. My daughter, Leslie, shivered in disgust at the thought. And Mitzi, oblivious to what just took place, continued to wiggle and bounce from grandchild to grandchild, hoping to sneak in just one more kiss.
On that day, Cameron may not have appreciated Mitzi’s overly affectionate greeting, but his quick response made the day unforgettable, a moment that would be retold at family gatherings for years to come. Sweet little Mitzi always loved the grandkids, but on that particular day, she apparently decided Cameron needed the deluxe dachshund welcome package, no warning, no manners, and way too much love!
