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.
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.