It’s nearly impossible to have a bad day with a dog like Mrs. Wigglebottom. You come home and there she is waiting in the doorway with her head cocked to the side like she’s wondering if it’s really you. And when she sees that it is, she turns and runs into the house, leaving big open, welcome space for you. Her little bottom is just wiggling away while she searches for her bone.
I was thinking of my uncle B.’s dog, Freckles, who, bless her heart, was just as dumb as a post. Bassetts are notoriously dim as it is, but Freckles took it to a whole new level. I swear, every time my uncle would come in the house, she would bark at him for a good ten minutes because she didn’t know who he was.
She’d just stare at him like she was seeing him for the first time in her life and bark and slowly back away from him.
My Uncle B. has two “bassetts” now. I use the term loosely because I don’t believe that they’re purebred. Supposedly they’re from the same litter, but the male looks like a full blooded basset and the female looks like a cross between a bassett and a beagle.
They are smarter than Freckles, though I’m pretty sure my shoe is smarter than Freckles, so that’s not saying much.
My Uncle B. and my dad had a dachshund growing up–FiFi, who would pee on the other Reverend whenever he came over. My dad has long contended that there is some mystery patch of old fashioned large dachshunds that are roughly the size of bassetts but shaped more like dachshunds.
I’ve checked Wikipedia and that confirms that there was indeed an ancestor to our breed that looks bigger. But this one has long legs, so I’m not sure that’s what he was talking about.
Anyway, obviously, in a perfect world, I would talk more about what’s got me bummed and stressed, but in this one, discretion is the better part of valour and so we’ll talk about dogs or pick fights with whoever we can or whatever distracts me.
Aw, don’t mind me. I’m just in a mood.