Posts Tagged ‘basset’

Hounds of All Shapes and Sizes

May 16, 2010

Earlier today, Alpha Dad took me for a short walk.  I had been complaining all morning about the injustice of his not taking me to the P-A-R-K, and I suppose he felt guilty when he agreed to take me around the block.

I have lots of doggie friends who live near my house.  Okay, they aren’t all my friends.  Like the german shepherd who thinks she is so much more intelligent than the rest of us (and probably is), and the poodle who barks and yips and scares me half to death every time I walk past.  And she always smells like peaches ‘n cream.

I always look forward to seeing my friends, the golden retrievers.  I’m not sure what sort of golden I prefer- the puppies because they’re more my size, or the adults because they don’t jump all over me.  Alpha Dad always says that golden retrievers are the nicest dogs at the P-A-R-K.  Clearly, he is not taking basset hounds into account.

My perspective on beagles is neutral.  They are loud and obnoxious, and they aren’t as handsome as basset hounds.  They’re inferior knock-offs of distinguished hounds like myself.  That being said, I’ve heard that when others copy you it’s best to take it as a complement.  I suppose that since there are so many beagles running around town, they must think quite highly of me.

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What Bassets Aren’t Allowed to Do

April 17, 2010

When I arrived at the P-A-R-K today with Alpha Dad and Sister Martian, there was a policeman trying to give people tickets for having their dogs off-leash during No Dogs Allowed hours.  Since I couldn’t read the No Dogs sign, I walked right into the P-A-R-K and luckily wasn’t caught be the policeman.  Unfortunately, some of my friends got busted by the strict cop.  I don’t understand why they won’t let dogs off-leash at the P-A-R-K after 9:00- nobody is ever there during the day and we’re not bothering anyone!  Some rules Rules in general don’t make any sense to me.

When I was entering the P-A-R-K, I ran into my friend and fellow basset: Chip.  Chip was heading back toward the parking lot with his parents.  In his mouth was a headless wabbit.  Chip was looking mighty pleased with himself, and he even let me take a sniff of his prize.  For some reason, his parents weren’t thrilled about Chip’s find.  Chip’s Dad kept trying to get him to drop the wabbit, but of course Chip wouldn’t do something that stupid.  What sort of basset hound would drop such a prize just because someone asked them nicely?  Unfortunately, Chip’s Mom proved to be a real Alpha Parent.  She grabbed the wabbit by the hind legs and yanked it out of Chip’s mouth, and then flung it off the trail.  Chip and I both gazed wistfully at the dead wabbit lying in the grass. 

The good news: there is always next time, assuming that Chip and I aren’t kept out of the P-A-R-K by some policeman who doesn’t like dogs.

My Bad Day was Fur-tilizer’s Fault

April 12, 2010

Yesterday was a very very sad day because a certain hound dog (ME!) didn’t get to go to the P-A-R-K.  I whined and ran in circles and even knocked the kibble out of my dish, but Alpha Dad wouldn’t take me.  He tried to explain why I couldn’t go, and it had something to do with a funny-sounding word: “fur-tilizer.”

Today, Alpha Dad agreed to take me to the P-A-R-K.  As soon as I put my paws in the grass, I could see what he was talking about.  Fur-tilizer looks like cat excrement but it smells even yuckier.  I tried to roll in it, but I didn’t like the way it felt on my fur.  When I was done playing with the other bassets, I was really stinky- and not in a good way.

Here’s the worst part: when I got home, Alpha Dad gave me a bath!  He said that playing in fur-tilizer isn’t good for dogs or people and that it could make me sick.  The only thing worse than a bath is going to the vet, so I didn’t put up too much fuss when he poured half a bottle of “Soothing Lavender Lilac” shampoo on my back.  Even my tail got a good scrubbing.  I was cold and wet all day.

I hope that they never put fur-tilizer on the grass at the P-A-R-K ever again.  I don’t want to have to endure a bath after every trip to the P-A-R-K!  Weeds have never bothered me, but fur-tilizer sure does.

Friend of the Birds

April 9, 2010

Recently, Alpha Mom took me to the P-A-R-K.  The P-A-R-K is supposed to be a place where dog lovers can let their dogs off the leash, but the village isn’t so big on this.  Someone set up no-dog hours, and if a Basset tries to go for a walk during these hours, he has to be on a leash.  Whoever set up the no-dog hours is first and foremost about as low as Cat in my book.  He or she is extremely foolish, because they forgot one key detail about Basset Hounds: we can’t read the “No Dogs” signs.

It was a lovely Saturday evening, mildly warm with a thin breeze.  And of course, I couldn’t read the “No Dogs” sign.  A wedding reception was underway on the P-A-R-K patio, and while the scents were delicious, I knew better than to interrupt the party.  Innocently off-leash, I trotted through the grass. 

BIRD!

Only the scent of a WABBIT is more captivating than that of Bird.  I buried my nose in the grass, searching for my nearby playmate.  And then I saw him, wandering around in the grass.  He was just a little thing, with light brown wings and beedlike eyes.  I gave him a warning “woof” and the chase was on.  The bird hopped around to the other side of the patio, and I followed at rabbit run speed.  I wanted to catch the bird as soon as possible, lest it fly away.

Reader, you must understand, I am a playful hound.  I do not eat birds like some malicious breeds, rather, I corner my playmate, take a big whiff, and I move on to other scents.  The bird must have known this, because it stayed on the ground, hobbling around in front of me.  I took a few steps forward, and soon I had the bird trapped between my paws.

“Someone stop him!  Stop the dog!  He’s hurting the injured bird!”  A crowd of wedding-goers was watching me from the patio now.  I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I figured it must have something to do with cheering me on.  Just to get the crowd going, I let the bird go.  He raced off into the grass, and I followed.  After a few laps around the patio, I cornered him again.

“Come here, doggie doggie!  Leave the bird alone!”  I glanced at the bird between my paws.  He was a timid little guy, and petrified with fright.  I took a step back, but he just stood there like some sort of lawn statue.

“Woof,” I said.  “I won’t hurt you.  I just want to sniff you.”

“He killed the bird!  Oh my god, someone stop that dog!  Wait, the bird isn’t dead yet!  Somebody save the bird!”  From the increased volume of the cheers, I figured I must be some sort of celebrity amongst these wedding-goers.  Perhaps they had all read my blog?  I decided to take the opportunity to show off my muscular build and glossy coat, so I began to strut around the bird.

I was enjoying my moment in the spotlight, but just then Alpha Mom marched out onto the grass and grabbed my collar.  Apparently she could read the “No Dogs” sign.  I squirmed backwards and tried to pull off “no go,” but I was too late.  Alpha Mom steered me down the path and into the P-A-R-K, where a plethora of scents awaited me.

Bluepaw

April 6, 2010

Many of my fans are probably wondering why some call me “Bluepaw.”  Here is the story…

When you have a sense of smell as acute as mine, you pick up fascinating odors all over the house.  For instance, cell phones give off a pleasant metallic odor (and they crunch nicely between your teeth).  Malt balls have a distinct chocolatey scent that can even be detected when they are hidden in plastic Easter eggs.  As I discovered one day, pens also have attractive scents.

I was lying in the middle of the living room.  None of my family was around, and truth be told, I was one bored hound dog.  I caught the scent of ink, and soon I had dug through the magazines on the coffee table with my nose and located a pen.  When you have massive paws, removing the cap of a pen is a little tricky, so I gripped the pen between my paws and chomped.

Eventually, I got sick of chewing on the pen and left its remains in the middle of the living room.  I wandered through the house, going about my business.  You know, sniffing Cat, snoozing, watching the squirrels in the neighbor’s yard, and snoozing.  Eventually, my family returned and Sister Fairy bent down to give me a belly rub.  I rolled over, but she caught one of my paws.

“Woody,” I recall her telling me, “your paws are blue!  What have you been up to?”

I looked at my paws in horror.  What indignity!  A Basset Hound with blue paws?  I would never live this one down.  I tried to lick the ink out of my white fur, but it was too late.  The ink was dry.  Since then, “Bluepaw” has become a sort of nickname for me around the house.  It’s not like my siblings have never gotten ink on themselves!  But everyone seems to think it’s funny when a Basset Hound dyes himself blue… but that’s the story.

Alpha Track Dog

March 28, 2010

Once, I saw a movie about a dog who was a total loser until he joined a basketball team and BAM he was famous!  If that’s all it takes to get some attention, I should be in the newspaper for joining the girls’ track team this morning at the P-A-R-K.

I was hanging out with some of my Basset buddies this morning.  You know, sniffing together, taking power naps together.  Basset Hounds are the most dignified breed at the P-A-R-K, but sometimes they just aren’t active enough for me.  This morning, I was up for a challenge.  And then I saw just the opportunity to show the world just how speedy a Basset Hound can be!  The girls’ track team was sprinting across the park, and I sped over to give track a try.

Girls’ track is harder than it looks.  I plunged into the middle of the pack, only to have my tail stepped on with someone’s muddy shoe!  Plus, my ears aren’t very aerodynamic.  But as I discovered, I have a real talent for running downhill.  I was Alpha Speed-Demon Dog, especially when I led the pack across a pool of mud at the bottom of the hill.  (Can you believe it?  Girls don’t like to play in the mud!)

Just as we were approaching a steep hill, I thought about my Basset Hound friends who were enjoying their power nap.  Who needs up-hills, anyways?  I took a cool-down trot back to my friends and collapsed in the grass.  The way I see it, if a Hound has to run up-hill to be a celebrity, then fame is definitely not worth it.

Allow Me to Introduce Myself…

March 23, 2010

It's been a long day of naps and belly rubs... I'd best get some beauty rest.

Hi there!  My name is Sheriff Woody.  You can call me Bluepaw, Dogdog, Hoondus, The Big Woof, or just Woody if you want to keep things nice and simple.

I was born in Indiana, spent a year frolicking in Arkansas, and now I’m home in the Great Midwest.  There are lots of perks to being a Midwestern Hound Dog.  For instance, there are always plenty of rabbits to sniff and squirrels to chase.  In the winter, we get lots of snow, though it’s not as much as the Weather God promises on the 9:00 news.  Snow is alright with me, except for when there are more than six inches on the ground.  When you’re a Basset Hound, snow can be pretty tricky to walk in.

I have lots of friends, including Alpha Dad, Alpha Mom, Brother Pooch, and Cat.  Okay, so Cat doesn’t exactly consider me a friend, but I’m working on reparing that relationship.  Sometimes, Alpha Dad takes me for a walk at the P-A-R-K.  He thinks he’s really clever for spelling out the word, like that’s going to stop a Hound Dog from figuring out where he’s going.  Alpha Mom makes great food.  Some of my personal favorites are Fish Skin and something she calls “Birthday Cake.”  Brother Pooch isn’t much of a chef, but he’s about my size and whenever we wrestle, I win.  Oh yeah, hears to Basset Hound supremacy.

As a Basset Hound, I get into all kinds of trouble.  Apparently Basset Hounds aren’t supposed to chew pens or steal hot dogs.  (But it’s okay if I sleep on the sofa when Alpha Mom isn’t looking.)  Once, I walked right down the street and got myself lost for a week!  It’s tough being short, too.  Once a Great Dane walked right over me at the P-A-R-K!  The life of a Basset Hound can sure be strenuous.

Alpha Dad started a blog a while back, and he thinks he’s pretty cool for coming up with sayings like “The moral of the story is, my blog is awesome.”  The way I see it, it’s my duty to put Alpha Dad in his place.  The competition is on to see who can get more hits on their blog.  I mean, seriously, who wants to read about all that human stuff?  I’d much rather read about myself. 

The moral of this story is… I may not type as fast or be as clever, but I have one thing on my side that no human or cat has got going for them: Bassetude.


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