Canine cross-dresser? Or merely possessing an interior thermostat that suffers dreadfully when the early fall temps in San Diego plunge into the bone-chilling, mid-sixty-degree range? Well, thank heaven for home-schooling: Teh Boys will never, ever have to learn about any Darwinian hoo-hah about “survival of the fittest”! What might that mean? [Cue scary rawhide-chew-”rationing,” gator’s-got-your-granny music…]

You should have those little balloon captions like in cartoons.

Fenway – Please, just this one time.

Beckhan – Oh, okay,I’ll share the couch with you one time. Comprende? This one time only.

Home schooling! Fenway would never get away such antics in socialist public basset school where it’s grrrrreading, grrrrrrwriting, and grrrrrithmetic interspersed with timeouts.

Curious about the dynamic between Becks and Scamp Junior in the photo. Fenway’s got eye contact avoidance going on. Bassets are good at that. Is someone talking to me? Wha? I can’t see you. You’re next to me? Really? I thought you were in another room. Meanwhile, shove, nudge, push, wangle…

Okay Lesley, I don’t remember you saying that you had been a basset mom. You totally have them pegged. Satchmo was the Master of the “head turning away just enough for you to know I am ignoring you” look and Becks does the “I will only look at you out of the corner of my eye while pretending to watch Law and Order” look. Fenway is just completely oblivious to everything other than his internal dialogue which I translate as “oooooo chewy, oooooo bug, oooooo cat, oooooo chewy, ooooooo Mom, ooooooo soccer ball, oooooo Beckham, oooooo DAD, ooooooo grass, oooooo something I’m not supposed to chew on but I will anyway, ooooooo Mom’s underwear……and on and on and on. It’s not that he’s not smart….he’s just easily distracted.
That being said…they are the best of buddies and Fenway is the only one of the bunch who (so far) has chosen me over Tbogg. I try not to take it too personally.

Or merely possessing an interior thermostat that suffers dreadfully when the early fall temps in San Diego plunge into the bone-chilling, mid-sixty-degree range?

Not quite, Mrs TBB. It’s bloody effing hot here… but we do have an ocean. Not that I’m complaining.

I’m quite accustomed to the “Did you say something? It didn’t have anything to do with walks, belly rubs or food, so who cares?” look. Anyone who lives with Bassets has seen this many, many times. I also have cats, who of course also treat their human slaves with utter contempt. It’s a wonder I have any self-esteem left.

On my 14th birthday my mother gave me a basset pup, a hellion I named Beatrice Lilliput. Beatle (for short) long ago travelled to the Rainbow Bridge where, I’m sure, she got kicked out for bad behaviour. Our next door neighbour also had a basset named Peaches. Peaches and Beatle were always at faux war. Prior to Beats, our family had 2 beagles, Deacon and Bow. Both enjoyed stalking being sprayed by skunks on a regular basis. Deacon (my mother’s heart and soul) was stolen by a construction worker – a neighbour witnessed the theft – and Bow was hit by a car while still a pup. The only time I saw my dad cry was the day the family buried Bow in a velvet lined box in the back yard.

The only other dog we had was a rescue sheltie-collie with raccoon eyes named Tess, also at the link above. She’s in the same elevated place Saint Satch is.

I am keenly drawn to dogs because I grew up with them. The love and kindness dogs have shown me is something I hold very dear.

Btw, I thought you were Beckham’s favourite.

It’s a long-running joke here at Casa Biscuitbarrel on the Wrong Coast. Whilst gathering up mittens, snowsuits, etc., I would say that when I was a girl, sometimes life at the beach in SoCal involved “bone-chilling” degrees in the sixties, and occasionally “sweltering” days in the low eighties. With, of course, an ocean nearby…

I used to be Beckham’s favorite….no longer. He has moved into First Dog status with Tbogg and has, as such, shifted loyalties. That leaves me with Fenway. Now if I can just get him to stop walking on me in the middle of the night, all will be well.

A non-walked-over-sleep is a thing of the past in our household. If you could patent such a thing, I’d buy.

Beatrice & Tess – my moment of squee

thank you !