First Things First

I'm a dog named Dixie. I have small feet which pitter patter on the linoleum floor, you can hear my toenails in the middle of the night. My tag says I belong to the Johnsons, but they don't own me they just feed me, they just bought me one day.

No one owns me, I'm Dixie the tiny dog. And in the middle of the day I sit in the sun and I hear young children call me a weiner dog, perhaps that's what I am. The Germanic term is dachshund and I like that.

I'm thin and I'm proud and no one can make fun of me. I can slip through the bars of prison if I were ever incarcerated, but I don't know what I would do wrong. My body yields no evel inclination, I'm a pure weiner dog.

My name is Dixie and I go dancing cross the floor in the evening of the Johnsons when everyone is sleeping. Sometimes I look for a morsel of food but they're so clean they're almost anal retentive in their cleanliness habits and there's nothing for me.

But I don't despair.
Because I know tomorrow my Gaines Burgers will be there, and they will unwrap the plastic from them and then feed me this succulent dish and I will eat.

And I've watched the German Shepherds with their long necks, their graceful necks, dipping into the toilet to drink whenever they want to have a drink of cool water in that well. But I must plead, I must beg, I must whine for Mr Johnson to put put my bowl or one of the Johnson boys to refill it after I drink it because I'm Dixie the dog and I like water.

And in the middle of the night you can see me dancing a small Fred Astaire tap dance, with my little toe nails.

They go click click against the linoleum, and I run down the hall and I slide. And the back of me goes in front of me... slowly.

I'm long and I'm thin, I'm Dixie the tiny dog and I like it.
Peter Himmelman