I got adopted in June, 2015. I kind of got off to a bad start; you know how it is when you pee on the floor and get the shakes really bad? Not what you’d call making a good a impression, right? Then, Miss Betty Jean from the shelter said I was too beautiful to be a boy. Geez! I’m really self-conscious about my looks, especially after I got 'fixed.' Luckily, my new dad didn’t care. On the way home, I played with Corky, who’s also adopted and kind of looks like Yoda. For a Yorkie-Chihuahua, Corkie is cool. After I ate Dad’s French fries, he decided I needed a new name. At the shelter, I used to be Tripp, which was okay. I was hoping for a name like Rambo, but I got called Sienna. It’s a girl’s name!!!! Dad says it’s something to do with a place in Italy and the color of my fur. He has grey hair, so I figured I was going to a nursing home. Imagine my surprise when I found out he lives on a sailing boat, on the water! The only water where I used to live was in puddles. I had to learn to go up a ladder; and I’m still learning how to jump on and off the boat; and I got a new life-jacket and lots of other cool stuff; and I went to the vet and got checked out; and Dad bought me lots of chewy things after I softened his sandals for him; and in between chewy things I gnawed through five leashes the first week; and I fell off the dock when I was playing with another dog. I didn’t know I could swim. When my new dad isn’t playing with me, or taking me for walks; he writes books. I get to meet lots of humans and go places with him. In November, we’re going to the Bahamas. Did I mention we live on a boat?
Sienna, aka Tripp, was adopted from the Maude Schiffley SPCA Shelter in Orangeburg, South Carolina.
Photo by Pam Stevens, Copyright
So about a year later, I was minding my own business running up and down the stairs when I hurt my back badly, like paralyzed bad. It hurt something awful. My dad took me to a dog hospital, where I had x-rays, MRIs, and all kinds of pokes and prods. Everyone was really mopey because my spine is a genetic disaster. I'm part Dachshund, believe it or not! I told my dad to start a Go-fund-me', but he had to fork over all his money for my operation. I'm mostly better now, but I'm not allowed to jump or play on stairs. I can make my dad cuddle me whenever I want, just by looking at him.