My Dog Milo

Milo is a superstar. Everywhere I take that long-haired dachshund people fall in love with him.

It is easy to. Milo’s looks alone can melt hearts. He has a silky coat of black and gold fur. His eyes are bright, his ears are floppy and when his short, stubby legs walk at a quick pace, it appears as if he is trotting.

Looks aside, Milo has the warmest, kindest disposition I ever seen. The sun never dims or fades for Milo; he lives under eternal sunshine. Every morning, Milo rushes out of his crate and scrambles up the stairs to perform an ecstatic dance across the floor while I measure out his breakfast kibble and fill his water dish. Then it is another scramble back down the stairs to go outside.

Once the morning excitement is finished, Milo usually finds a cushion-either his own pillow, a sofa or easy chair to lie down on. He'll either curl up into a small circle, lie on one side with his tiny legs sticking straight out or stretch out on his belly as if he has become some sort of fuzzy torpedo.

If I walk past him or call his name, Milo may roll over on to his back and wiggle his front legs, hoping for a belly rub. Milo loves his belly rubs; he also loves to stretch out his neck for a chin rub.

I don't leave Milo at home when I go to work; he either hangs with my parents and their dog, Sam, or he joins me at work.

I have a portable crate that he will lounge in at the office or he'll jump up on my lap and snooze as I write a story or lay out a page.

My colleagues have embraced the little guy. Carol, my boss, has a dog of her own and when she makes deposits at the bank, the tellers will often pass on envelopes filled with dog treats for Carol's dog, Tyrone. She generously shares them with Milo, who happily gobbles them up. Carol isn't the only one who lavishes on Milo. The postal worker who delivers the office's mail will often slip him a bone.

At some point during the work day, I take Milo on a short walk. We usually make our way to Ashley Pond. Milo really likes that park. He sniffs every inch of the place and romps merrily everywhere,  his tongue dangling from his mouth, which seems to stretch into a wide smile.

Inevitably on these walks, someone stops to coo over the little guy. Once, a man asked to take Milo's picture. Teenagers have told me how much they love Milo, adults reach out their fingers so Milo can inspect them with his nose and children will carefully touch his fur. Milo, I am sure, loves the attention. I tell everyone what ham he is. The truth is, I love it. I love that everyone embraces my dog and I beam whenever someone compliments him.

My family loves Milo, too. My father will exclaim every time he sees him, "Milo, my man!" My mother allows him to snooze in her raised vegetable beds. My niece and nephews will take him for  strolls around the neighborhood.

As for me, I try to impress upon Milo pretty much every day how exceptional he is and what an  exemplary dog he has become. You may think this is ridiculous but I am telling you Milo seems to lift his head a little higher when I praise him and puff out his chest a little more. I tell Milo how we all should be a little more like him. Because how bad would it be if we were all givers of unconditional love and naturals at napping?