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In The Further Adventures of The Big Bed (and, no, this isn’t Sexy Stories For Sexy Adults so just pull it out of the gutter, Sparky) the dogs and the humans are adapting to having what seems like a half acre more sleeping space. Unfortunately the new bed sits up considerably higher (31 inches from floor to the top) and, while Fenway can leap up onto it with a standing jump (I am not kidding. He’s freak of nature for a basset), Beckham has a bit of a problem using the ottoman that he has always used, so we’re replacing the box springs with lower profile ones to make it easier for him. After Satchmo’s back problem, we are overly cautious these days.
This is also a good thing for me, because I’m not as leggy as the statuesque and currently supine mrs tbogg and when I get out of bed I feel like I’m falling through space before the feet hit the floor. Jeebus knows I live in fear of the falling, the broken hip, the pneumonia, the death, the eternal torment of flames, pokey things, and Creed muzak.
Needless to say (but that never stopped me from saying before) with the new bed comes new bedding and pillows and throws which is like Disneyland for bassets. As in:
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The look in that first picture is straight out of Basset Victoria’s Secret.
Ahhhhh. New bedding is unusable until christened by bassett slobber. Yours is fine now.
Sweet dreams to you all.
That first pic? “Oh, were you gonna use this half of the bed?”
The Countess Von Zeppelin and I have shared a king-sized bed for the past couple of years with our dachs/beagle and our greyhound/whatever. Our boyz find that it is a wonderful combination of sleeping location and Extreme Dog Wrestling arena. We also have installed an advanced technology DoggieStep(TM), made from an inverted plastic milk crate covered with an old bathmat, to assist the smaller dog in climbing aboard. The greyhound-like mutt prefers the gazelle-leap method, which is even more fun if he lands on some painfully delicate portion of the anatomy of a sleeping human.
I wish I had a dog
I though of you the other day. There I was, stuck in traffic behind a Honda CRV, vanity license plate “HOUNDA” with not one but two basset faces peering at me through the back window (nearly completely obscured by dried dog nose snot and drool).
You haven’t recently moved to Maine, have you?
That’s quite the come hither look on Fenway…ooh, baby!
The bed pictures are nice and all, but you didn’t give us a Fenway Destruction Report for the week, and the week is not complete without that.
As bassets usually possess quite the basso profundo, I can quite easily imagine Fenway as a sort of canine Barry White…The Basset of Love…
Aww, snoozing Beckham is so cute.
I just received a copy of “Animal Fare” from the San Diego Humane Society and wondered why. I scratched my ass for a while while checking it out (no easy feat), and I came across donations made in pets’ names. Damn if there wasn’t a certain Satchmo listed. I’d forgotten the donation, definitely did not forget Satchmo, though I swear I don’t know that guy they listed.
Now they’ll be hitting me up for money every twenty minutes. Thanks, TBogg…
Catching up on Basset Mayhem.
It’s too bad they don’t make bed-side elevators for bassets, with cushions, a milkbone service and a door man. Beckham would approve I’m sure.
Fenway is becoming quite the handsome young prince.
Fantastic pix. PS: There is no such thing as “overly cautious” when it comes to low-slung dogs’ backs. They’re very prone to disc issues and other injuries. Ask you vet how much jumping/climbing they should be doing; I’m guessing he or she will say little or none.
The new throw pillows seem pretty effective at cocking the ear, but i’m sure you and MrsT have discovered that already.
It’s winter in Massachusetts, and both Newfs have taken up residence in the big bed. Thankfully. mmm, warm pups.
Yeah, me too. However, the manly Mr. Biscuitbarrel is allergic to cats and not fond of pets, and I knew what I was getting into before I married him. He does have a lovely, glossy, front-and-back pelt, but tends to be a bit aggressive in the middle-of-the-night Blanket Tug O’ War conducted in our full-size marital bed.
When our sons were younger, their friends would ask, “Why do your parents have such a small bed?” And our kids would glare at us, like we’d reeeeally put them on the spot.