To the left of my desk at the Transcript-Bulletin office are two photos of my pride and joy: a 3-year-old miniature Dachshund named Beatrix Kiddo. On my right is a small, silver-colored wiener dog paperweight. Earlier this week I bought a T-shirt that says, “Proud owner of a Dachshund.”

That’s right, I’ve gone to the dogs. I didn’t used to be this way. I was afraid of most dogs for the first 21 years of my life, stemming from what I thought was a dog attack at the age of 6 while selling Girl Scout cookies. (Thinking back, the dog probably wasn’t that big and after knocking me down had a grand time licking my face.)

I grew up a cat person. My parents got their first cat, Nutmeg, in 1981, and she was a vital part of our lives until she died in 1999. Three years later, my sister Lindsay wanted a kitten for her 18th birthday. Now, my parents have had Bonnie — a white and gray, blue-eyed feline I call Cat-Face — for seven years. She may be pretty, but boy is she mean. Don’t cross her path or she’ll try to hiss or attack your ankles.

After falling in love with my boyfriend Brooks last year, I also became infatuated with his dog Beatrix — whom I lovingly call Beezie — named after Uma Thurman’s character from “Kill Bill.” She’s small, weighing only 8 pounds, and loves to lick my face, squeak pig toys and chase after a red laser pointer. Never did I think I could love a dog so much.

Beezie comes from three generations of miniature Dachshunds. Brooks and his family got Beezie’s grandma, Belle, as a Christmas gift about 10 years ago. She gave birth to a litter that included Beezie’s mom, Tika. After Tika had two litters, Brooks decided he wanted a dog of his own and kept Beezie. I am sure glad he did.

Last month, at the young age of 9, Belle died. I hadn’t really liked Belle all that much until she got sick. This is understandable considering she was older and didn’t like to play. But boy could she eat — a lot. Since Brooks and I began dating, Belle had eaten: a pound of flour, macadamia nuts, a one-pound bag of M&Ms, chewed through the lid of a metal popcorn container to get the popcorn and stole gum out of my purse. Not to mention a slew of other various foods Brooks’ mom Colleen probably didn’t bother to tell us about because the list had gotten so long.

Now the Bird family wiener dogs are down to two. Tika was distraught after Belle’s death, howling non-stop and constantly looking for her mother. Whenever we take Beezie over, Tika immediately cheers up and always wants to lay with her pup. We’ll keep this Dachshund lineage after we breed — and then fix — Beezie to get another Dachshund puppy.

I talk about Beezie like parents talk about their kids — just ask some of my coworkers. They hear stories about how she doesn’t like to eat her dinner except on the stairs, in the bedroom or outside. I tell them how she only barks at people outside of the car on the street and never at people in their own cars. She would much rather sleep curled up in a ball on my lap than anywhere else except maybe outside with the sun beating down on her black coat. Brooks even set up a Facebook page for her where she has 60 friends, 30 photos and videos of her barking at Arctic Circle patrons. Yeah, I guess you could say we’re “those people” who are overly obsessed with their dog.

People say over time that dogs and their owners eventually look alike. Well, neither Brooks nor I look disproportionally like a wiener dog with their long bodies and short legs. However, Brooks and Beezie both have deep chocolate brown eyes and the reddish tan of Beezie’s markings match my hair exactly. I guess it’s a long shot with the similarities, but it’s something I enjoy pointing out.

Every day while working, I glance over at Beezie’s floppy ears stretched out to make her look like Batdog and her slightly sad, pouty eyes that long for me to come see her. And I smile. This dog loves me as much as I love her. She’s adorable and has changed my life. I no longer look at dogs as smelly, dirty canines, but as man’s — and woman’s — best friend.

Missy Thompson: missy@tooeletranscript.com