Everybody in Norway owns a wiener dog. Everybody. This is the only way I can think to explain the wiener dog phenomenon. I’ll admit that I am prone to exaggeration, most writers are. BUT I AM TELLING YOU. Every time I leave the house, I see a wiener dog. Every. Single. Time.
It doesn’t matter where I’m going. When I walk to the gym: wiener dog. When I walk to the grocery store: wiener dog. When I walk to Jeløy: two wiener dogs. Will suggested that maybe it’s the same one over and over again–which would be weird enough given my varied schedule. But they’re all different–short hair, long hair, black, brown, old, young… The puppies–oh the puppies. THEY ARE SO TINY. They could literally fit into a hot dog bun, and that’s the only way I can picture them. Paws up, surrounded by bun.
I already have a tender spot in my heart for these jaunty fellows, and seeing at least one every single day is making a mockery out of my sad, dogless life. Now my thirst is insatiable. As if the dogs I pass on the street aren’t enough, I’m GOOGLING for MORE wiener dogs. (The featured image is a Google.) I mean, it’s a dog named after a kind of food that it looks like. What’s not to love? Absurd animals are my favorite, there’s no dog more absurd than a wiener dog, except maybe a corgi. Don’t get me started on corgis.
Will also suggested that maybe there’s a wiener dog rescue somewhere near by. WHICH GOT ME DREAMING ABOUT BEING A VOLUNTEER DOG WALKER AT A WIENER DOG RESCUE. If only my life could be so sweet. My kingdom for a wiener dog!