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My last basset, Alice (gone 23 years now, still negotiating with my shar-pei loving wife over having one now) was the epitome of bassetness. In our family room when I was growing up we had a matching love seat and rocker (ugly naugahyde, this was the '70s). Alice enjoyed sleeping on the love seat and taking up the whole thing. One of my sister's cats one day hopped up on the love seat and snuggled up next to her. Not wanting to be crowded, but also not wanting to risk a confrontation with him, Alice opted to move to the rocker--but she tried to do it by climbing directly from the love seat to the rocker without getting on the floor first. She got her front paws on the arm of the rocker and her back feet on the arm of the love seat, and, thanks to the linoleum floor, both chairs began sliding apart. I remember the look she gave me just before pancaking onto the floor--it was the same look Wile E. Coyote gets when he's standing in mid-air about to fall off of a cliff!
Then there was Herbie, my first basset, who once adopted a stray kitten and let it sleep in his dog house...a dog who would beg for our peanut butter sandwiches, and then bury them in the flowerbed--he never buried bones, just sandwiches.
I've managed to convince two of my five children that a basset is the dog they want. Making progress!
Bryan
http://www.bryanwfields.com
[ January 27, 2006, 10:42 AM: Message edited by: Bryan W. fields ]
Then there was Herbie, my first basset, who once adopted a stray kitten and let it sleep in his dog house...a dog who would beg for our peanut butter sandwiches, and then bury them in the flowerbed--he never buried bones, just sandwiches.
I've managed to convince two of my five children that a basset is the dog they want. Making progress!
Bryan
http://www.bryanwfields.com
[ January 27, 2006, 10:42 AM: Message edited by: Bryan W. fields ]