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OK so this story doesn't actually have too much to do with the photo above. But I will explain anyway that the two dogs in the picture are not related to each other, they are just friends. Their names are Snapper and Liebes. Dachshunds are so adorable, I think, because they always seem like slippery puppies, never like grown dogs--well, the mini dachshunds, in any case. Because there are a lot of different kinds of dachshunds; long-haired, short-haired, wire-haired. And they do range in size from tiny to almost basset hound size. A couple of times a year the New York Dachshund Friendship Society has these huge reunions under the arch in Washington Square Park. The climax of the day is a group sing-a-long of the Dachshund song--throngs of people chanting "Dachsie, meine dachsie," which makes the whole thing feel a bit like (excuse me) a fascist rally. It's all kind of cool, but kind of provincial at the same time, something a smaller city would make the hallmark of its identity: "Littletown: Home of the Dachshund Festival!" But this is New York, so it's really not a big deal. I was at this thing last year, even though I don't have a dachshund, or any other dog. But for some reason I do know a whole group of dachshund owners, and I thought this would be a good way to see everyone all at once. I was kind of inappropriately dressed, had on a long-sleeved shirt and boots, and it was really hot out. I was suffering, actually, feeing really uncomfortable, waiting to see a familiar face, either canine or human. I was sitting in the shade of a tree, close to this one dog who seemed to be trying to tunnel her way to freedom. And I didn't blame her, as her owner had her dressed in a pink tutu, a delicate skirt that she seemed bent on soiling with her feverish digging. And then this weirdest thing happened, which was that I sort of passed out, or fell asleep. I'm still not sure which. And I must've stayed asleep for a really long time, because when I woke up most of the dogs were gone. My pink-skirted friend had left a gaping trench in the grass, but she herself had disappeared. Had I missed the Dachshund song? Where the hell were my friends? I sat up and realized with a surge of cold nausea that my bag was gone. I had fallen asleep with it under my arm and it was not there anymore. Keys, wallet, money. I felt like such a big idiot. I live by myself, which is great except for when I lose the keys to my apartment. So I've given copies to a couple of friends. I stumbled toward Broadway to find a phone, used my calling card number to leave messages for the custodians of my extra keys. I had decided to plant myself at Union Square, by the statue, because that was near E's house, and I was sure she'd get home soon, hear the message and come save me. Yeah, right. It was Saturday, early evening. She could be out for the evening, couldn't she? Trying not to think about this, or about how weird I felt, I made my way uptown. This just sucked. I was so angry at myself. And kind of confused. I had never fallen asleep in a public place. What had happened? I tried to think back to the events preceding my coma. I had been uncomfortably hot. I had been watching a dog dig a hole. I had closed my eyes for a moment...and woken up hours later. It just didn't make any sense.
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