My boss brought her six-month-old Dachshund, Schnitzel, into work with her today. I love dogs and grew up in a house full of them so it was nice having her about.
But Schnitzel wasn’t at all impressed by me. She barked at me as I moved around erratically shouting “Biscuit,” and things got worse when I started barking back.
She sat opposite me on my boss’s knee peering over the top the desk, growling.
Perhaps she knew what other things I’ve ticced about her breed:
“There’s a Dachshund in the oven, turn it on.”
“I’ve wedged a sausage dog in my bum.”
“Lancastrian saxophone sausage dog.”