Holly was kept locked up in a laundry room by her first owner. The second owner had too many pets, and gave her to us. She was a short-haired dappled black & tan miniature Dachshund, but she was overweight, and had a tail about 2" shorter than our other Doxies, with a crook about 2/3 from the tip. We suspect someone might have shut a door on her tail. She turned out to be my favorite. We had placed a dog gate to keep the dogs in the living/dining/kitchen areas, and when I got up every morning, she was always waiting at the gate, silhouetted against the night light shining from the kitchen, with her ears perked up and her tail, with it's crook, held higher than her back. She was always with me when I worked in the kitchen and when I worked on a puzzle, or the computer. She was the 'guard dog' and alerted us when there was a bear or 'coon raiding the trash or bird feeders.
My husband sometimes took them out for their break, but he never put leashes on them, and I would tell him I thought they should have leashes to protect them. He always said they stayed nearby, but I would tell him they could see or smell something nearby and try to chase after it. He had taken them out one morning, while I was busy, and a few seconds later came running in the house, saying "Something's got Holly!!!" I ran out the door and up the hill with him and could hear yelping that was becoming fainter by the second, and we attempted to follow it through the dense brush. We were not able to get through the brush fast enough, and ceased to hear the yelping. I went back to get our 45 auto, and searched for almost 2 hours, but the brush was so dense, I could only make it a few hundred yards, much of it on hands and knees. I went back to the house and all I remember is feeling an overwhelming despair and grief that felt like it was going to crush me. My husband had to physically help me to the car and drove to the ER, where they put me in a wheelchair and took me to a back room, where they had a counselor talk to me for almost 2 hours. He said something that I could not bear to hear, and I destroyed the counter nearby with my feet. I still don't remember much of it. The doctor that admitted me asked my husband if I should go home or stay, and he opted to take me home, but she prescribed a sedative. I don't remember much of that day, or the next.
That happened on a Saturday, and when I went to work on Monday, I felt like a zombie. My co-workers knew something was wrong, so I told them what happened, and they got me a card and a gift.
To this day, I am severely depressed, on 2 depression medications, and still see her silhouette at the gate. I loved that little dog.