The story of a crippled Dachshund

A man enjoys a beer on the porch while watching an old wiener dog, and then writes about it:

We sat in Adirondack chairs. I don’t know if they were real. The chairs probably hadn’t gotten within 2,000 miles of the Adirondacks, but as long they were smooth and leaned back, it didn’t matter. They were perfect, comfortable front-porch chairs.

Halfway through our beverages, we noticed the dachshund, its back legs useless, dragging itself down the sidewalk. He’d started at the house next to the alley. He’d been sniffing a cat under a parked car and when he couldn’t get traction on that encounter, he lit out for parts north.

A kind lady lives on the corner. She loves animals. If she had to choose between me and the crippled dachshund, the best I could hope for would be some leftover kibble, should he have had his fill.

Animals find her. Cats, dogs — I haven’t seen any wild porcupines, but, if one was having a problem, her front lawn would be a good place to rest.

I’d never seen the dachshund before. I spotted a small wagon that lay on its side. It was the sort of contraption used by animals that have lost use of their back legs.

Maybe the dachshund had had it with the wagon. With the cat. With home-court advantage and wanted to play an away game.