The True Story of How Dunkin
Became Dunkin The Donut Jones.
As told by Wyatt, who witnessed the aftermath.
Alright folks, gather around, because now we get to the story of my little brother Dunkin - also known to the world as "Dunkin The Donut." And believe me when I say this, the story of how he got that name is almost as ridiculous as he is.
Now folks, the time this happened was June of 2025, and life around our house was already pretty full. You see, Mom and Dad already had Jake and me, Wyatt - which if you ask me is already a perfectly respectable number of Dachshunds. But Dad has this condition. Some people call it "looking at dog ads online." Dad calls it "just browsing." The rest of us call it "How yet another Dachshund showed up at our house."
So one day Dad was on LSN doing what he claimed was important technical research. He was supposedly looking for an old used 10-foot satellite dish for his GOES-19 satellite system. Now if you know Dad, that part of the story actually checks out. But while he was scrolling through the ads, something popped up on the screen. And it was not a satellite dish.
It was a picture of a super cute little black-and-tan smooth Dachshund puppy (are there any other kind?). The ad said he was seven months old, and sadly his current mom had become allergic to him and needed to find him a new home. Dad immediately did what any reasonable Dachshund enthusiast would do. He showed the ad to Mom.
Mom looked at the picture and immediately said: "NO." Not "maybe." Not "let's think about it." Just a very clear and very firm "NO." Mom said, "Dave, I am still not over losing Della, and I am not ready for another puppy. Besides, we already have Jake and Wyatt."
Now normally when Mom says something like that, Dad understands that the subject is closed. But apparently Dad's fingers had other plans, because the next thing anyone knew, Dad had already texted the seller. Mom just looked at him. You know that look humans give each other that says, "Tell me you did not just do that?"
The seller texted back and said the puppy was still available. Mom sighed the sigh of someone who already knows how this story ends. She said, "Well, we can go look at him. But we do not need another puppy right now."
Now folks, if you ever hear a human say "We can just go look," I want you to understand something very important: That phrase has never once in the history of Dachshunds meant "just looking."
So Mom and Dad drove to Smithville, Tennessee to meet the little guy. And get this: They left me and Jake at home. Which I personally feel was a serious tactical mistake, because Jake and I would have immediately explained that the house already contained the correct number of Dachshunds.
But anyway, when Mom and Dad arrived, Dunkin's owner came out to meet them in the driveway. And then she handed little Dunkin to Mom. Now folks, the moment Mom picked him up, Dunkin executed what I like to call a Level-One Dachshund Charm Offensive.
The very first thing he did was lean forward and gave Mom a big slobbery slurp right on her cheek. It was Game over. Just like that. Mom was done. You could practically hear the words "we're taking him home" floating through the air. Within thirty minutes, Dunkin had a new Mom, a new Dad and two new brothers and was officially headed to his new home.
Now on the drive back, Mom and Dad were trying to figure out what to name him. They tried several names, but nothing sounded right. Meanwhile, Dunkin was sitting there being adorable and acting like he had lived with them his entire life. Eventually they drove through Sparta, Tennessee, which is on the way home. As they passed through town, Dad suddenly pointed at something. It was a big sign. And that sign said: DUNKIN DONUTS. Dad pointed at it and said, "That's it! That's his name!"
Mom laughed and said, "I love it! He's as sweet as a Dunkin Donut." And just like that the little black-and-tan Dachshund puppy officially became: DUNKIN. Or as the world now knows him, "Dunkin the Donut Jones, The Flying Dachshund."
And when Mom and Dad finally brought him home, Jake and I just looked at each other. Because we both knew something very important: our house had just become one Dachshund louder. And folks, trust me on this... Dunkin has never been quiet since.