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Things were good. There was a couch to sleep on, baseball on the TV, and good company. Not a care in the world.

And then it happened. He showed up.

They call me Fenway

This would be Fenway, our latest addition He was born on 12/30/07 (never forget!) and his original owners, who called him Charlie, only had him for two weeks before circumstances dictated that they would have to move and he couldn't go with them.

We had been planning on adding another basset to our posse of lowriders for months now, hoping to hold out until the L&T Casey returned from school. The Great Debate had been between the caring and responsible mrs tbogg, who wanted to adopt a rescue basset, whereas I like to get my dogs as puppies and raise them myself so I know all of their traumas and dramas. I know this makes me an irresponsible person when there are so many dogs that need homes... but I'm going to hell anyway so what's a few more pitchfork pokies anyway. (Actually, "hell" for me will be being locked in a room for eternity with James Lileks, watching a slide show of his favorite matchbook covers... with a soundtrack by Creed.)

But back to the more pleasant things...

Fenway basically filled both of our requirements and so we jumped the gun a few weeks early.

We were somewhat worried about how Beckham, who can be fairly jealous and aggressive (just like Tawny Kitaen!) would treat him, but after a few snarls they spent the better part of last night and this morning wrestling and chasing each other . Satchmo, as usual, is indifferent and just wants to eat, sleep, and watch Matlock (just like John McCain! only Satchmo wants to stay in Iraq for only 14.2857143 years.).

For the moment peace reigns o'er the household but hostilities could break out at just about anytime. Say, about dinnertime.

They said there would be food