Love is doggies deomonstratinng their devotion to you by laying on you in truly uncomforatable positions.

That’s not a good book, it’s a great book.

And if you’re gonna lay down with doggies, there’s something to be said for having doggies with no hard angles. Angus the Wonderhound has very long legs with very bony elbows, and he’s not afraid to throw them…

This makes me smile.

This has to be the best photo of the TBogg Thurber Triplets ever! And isn’t Satchmo darling, taking up a full half of the couch and two pillows, one for his arm, no less.

Looks like Mrs. Bogg doesn’t need a throw with these FURnaces to keep her warm. Har.

Yes, I would definitely call this heaven, even if it means standing room only for TBogg.

(so great to see Monsignor Satchmo again.)

That is the BEST couch, ever!

Looks like they might not get enough to eat…/s

I’m curious, TBogg, do they ever sing to you and the Missus? If one starts baying, do the other chime in?

I love horse stories, TBogg. I’ll swap with you.

I can understand why this photo is on your desktop. It’s The Picture with Everything–tasteful interior design, a classic mystery novel, warm California sunshine, a heap o’ hounds, and the glamorous gams of the svelte and literary Mrs. TBogg. A particularly pleasing part of the composition is St. Satchmo’s tail, neatly tucked under Madame’s shapely calves.

Clearly, Mrs. Danvers is doing a fine job keeping the TBogg household in order.

The three stooges of the Basset world, a good book, and….whatever. It’s always a treat to see Satchmo again. [They just get into your veins, don’t they? From then on, no matter what, they are always a part of you.]

Good to see the canine clan in a stellar photo opp. Life is short, but life with the pets is good. Happy weekend to the TBoggs!

Nice pic – they really look comfy. Did they open their eyes at all when you took it or are they so used to your camera that they don’t even pay attention? BTW Mrs. Tbogg’s feet really are dirty – did she walk through coals that day?

If there is a heaven, I want it to be just like this.

According to Billy Collins, if that’s what you want, you got it.

THE AFTERLIFE

While you are preparing for sleep, brushing your teeth,
or riffling through a magazine in bed,
the dead of the day are setting out on their journey.

They’re moving off in all imaginable directions,
each according to his own private belief,
and this is the secret that silent Lazarus would not reveal:
that everyone is right, as it turns out.
you go to the place you always thought you would go,
The place you kept lit in an alcove in your head.

Some are being shot into a funnel of flashing colors
into a zone of light, white as a January sun.
Others are standing naked before a forbidding judge who sits
with a golden ladder on one side, a coal chute on the other.

Some have already joined the celestial choir
and are singing as if they have been doing this forever,
while the less inventive find themselves stuck
in a big air conditioned room full of food and chorus girls.

Some are approaching the apartment of the female God,
a woman in her forties with short wiry hair
and glasses hanging from her neck by a string.
With one eye she regards the dead through a hole in her door.

There are those who are squeezing into the bodies
of animals–eagles and leopards–and one trying on
the skin of a monkey like a tight suit,
ready to begin another life in a more simple key,

while others float off into some benign vagueness,
little units of energy heading for the ultimate elsewhere.

There are even a few classicists being led to an underworld
by a mythological creature with a beard and hooves.
He will bring them to the mouth of the furious cave
guarded over by Edith Hamilton and her three-headed dog.

The rest just lie on their backs in their coffins
wishing they could return so they could learn Italian
or see the pyramids, or play some golf in a light rain.
They wish they could wake in the morning like you
and stand at a window examining the winter trees,
every branch traced with the ghost writing of snow.

I went to Manderley again last night and hey, there was a basset-covered couch just like that one in the upstairs foyer. Same pillows even.
Great novel, great shot of the doggies/Mrs. TBogg.

That photograph, with its expression of everyday, homey delights, is beautiful enough to be a painting.

Love them doggies, too.

And thanks to NealDeesit for the Billy Collins poem…that was wonderful.

It’s a Three Dog Night.

That is heaven.

Enjoy.

What a great picture. It doesn’t get any more Bassetty than that.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderly again, but this time there were three odd looking dogs and a hot married woman there. It was better than when I dreamt I went to Manderly again and Leiningen and all those fucking ants were there…

Gotta agree w/ your vision of heaven. It was chilly last night, and four of my five kittehs were snuggled up around me. I couldn’t get the covers over my shoulder the way I like them, but it didn’t matter – the kitteh-who-loves-to-stretch-out-onl-my-shoulder was in place.
Better than an electric blanket. Sigh.

We do the daytime thing couch plus book plus kittehs, too, but lately I am trying to keep moving and get work done.

(In heaven, I would love to have my two long-ago dogs with me, too. Being heaven, they would get along fine w/ all the kittehs, right?)

Lovely, lovely pic, Tbogg.

(In heaven, I would love to have my two long-ago dogs with me, too. Being heaven, they would get along fine w/ all the kittehs, right?)

Definitely!!

When the last of our three cats died recently, I was commenting to a friend about what would go on in “Heaven” when Marmalade [the recently-departed & coward] came upon “Cookies,” [the earlier-departed tough guy tormentor]: querying whether “Heaven” for Marmalade, which would involve not getting stalked and scared by Cookies, could co-exist with “Heaven” for Cookies, which would involve non-stop stalking and tormenting.

She assured me that all the furries would get along there. I believe it.

Oh yeah. I recognized you in passing from the JDM3 stenciled on that chamberpot you were carrying downstairs.

Nicetohaveseenyathere.

And me!