She came to us in October, just 8 weeks old. She had been born on August 19 in Covelo, CA,  and Joe's son brought her to him. I came over after a long day at work and the sky was already dark. The electricity was out and I found Joe in the kitchen just sitting in the dark. I started rambling about work, while he sat in silence. Then I became aware of another presence in the room. I looked around. By the wall, there was a small bed. I knelt down. A wriggling black and tan sausage greeted me. Love at first sight. 

Joe and I had had some troubles in the relationship. We argued a lot. I didn't live at the house but came several evenings in the week and the entire weekend. Píccola cemented the relationship. We now had someone to take care of, a mutual goal. She turned us into a little family. Joe came first in her life and she would sit with him mostly. He fed her. I took over the "chores". Brushing, washing, trying to potty train her.and I took her on walks. Often she sat between us on the sofa. 
The family had a knack of choosing names for their dogs that I found stupid. So I was determined to name this one. Something unique. She was long like a piccolo. But she was female so that would be piccola. And in Italian there is an accent on the i,  so she was Píccola. It was always fun to see people deal with her name. I would have to explain about the accent on the first syllable. One neighbor never did get it right. 
She learned quickly and was amenable to most activities except nail trimming. I never did master that one. She became an integral part of our daily life.

As both dog and man got older, they took to sitting on the lawn chair together basking in the sun. 

She often traveled with us locally, when we visited family in her hometown of Covelo or visited his daughter up North. She was a good traveler and would just sit on the passenger seat with whoever was sitting there. Apparently I didn't take photos of her there. While dachshunds are usually water dogs, she wouldn't go near the Eel River. 

Píccola participated inJoe's 100th birthday party. May 28, 2022. Both were now gray. Six months later, in December, he died. Píccola was in his bed, glued to his side, while people bustled around. Then, at one point, she got up, shook herself, and went outside. She knew he was gone and she accepted it. 
That afternoon, I picked her up, gathered her things and brought her to my house. She had been at my house and knew it. She quickly adapted to a new home and a new routine. And life went on. She was such a comfort to me, as I missed Joe and started a new life. 

She still had her bed, her blankets, and one human she knew. The routine was about the same.  She got left home alone  more but  she also socialized more, going to the Empty Nest parties with me and to hear a local band in Albany. Everyone who met her loved her. 

Rest in Peace, dear Píccola. Thank you for bringing me so much love and for your comforting presence. You were a good dog! May you find happiness wherever you fly.