We should do some kind of test where everyone does their favorite thing, measures their pleasure in doing it (perhaps using the Libertarian Scale of Things to Panic About, if we can’t put it to any better use), and then does it again in the presence of a dachshund.
Because I am firmly convinced that dachshunds do indeed make everything more awesome.
I once dogsat for a man with three dachshunds, who lived–I shit you not–in what was the bear exhibit at the old zoo here in town. The bear cave was still in his front yard, much the same way that the Grizzly River Rampage is still sitting behind the Opryland Hotel, just another landscape feature. And I loved walking his dogs because they would bound in and out of the tall grass like happy porpoises with legs.
Anyway, Salon.com has a review of a book—Icelander by Dustin Long–which I am now dying to read based solely on the joy I take in seeing that there is, in the book, a dog called the Fenris Dachshund.
God, see. The presence of the Fenris Dachshund has already improved this post 53% by its mere mention and this was already a good post to start with.