Wembley’s crooning a love song. Fenway says Wut.

Is he about to let loose in the photo? That’s adorable.

It’s good to see the boyz together tonight. This week has gone fast; didn’t even realize it was Basset Night at the House of Snark.

Magnificent.

Put down the camera and bring us martinis, dude! Easy on the olives.
- Fen and Wem in St.Tropez (Ok, sunnin’ in San Diego, a fella can dream caint he?)

Wembley is my kind of ham.

OMG, just realized the only thing missing is a sheet of foil under Wembley’s chin.

Those early morning howls?

Wembley, channeling Lassie, knows Emperor President Obama is reviewing his how-do-I-totally-fuck-up-the-world checklist at 3AM PT.

Wembley’s all like “Dad, wake up! Obama’s throwing America down the well”…

Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin!

Is it too soon to ask for a video? The last one I recall was the tiny Wembley with ball, scritching and snuffling around the bedroom.

Love how Wembley’s eyes are closed as he sings.

Love the pokey outey pawses, too.

When the neighbor dogs howl at sirens, my dog has to join in. It sounds magnificent. 2 beagles, a big black dog, my beagle, and the basset next door. Wonderful music. Sing it, Wembley!

We used to live near the edge of a smallish community in rural Oklahoma. Our lab/Great Pyrenees enjoyed singing along with the coyote chorus. Only time she ever howled.

Yes, yes, we need a video!!!!!! Puh-leeeeeeze!!!

Have a good weekend, everybody. And pray for me; my daughter wants to adopt a chihuahua!!! Jesus.

Yes, they (canines) all do that – isn’t it neat? Like good emotive singers everywhere in the people world. There’s been musicological research about wolf howling, the way individuals in a pack choose their pitches during a chorus, and the tonal relationships and so on.

Our pug is rather hearing impaired, but when we play classic 20s and 30s jazz around suppertime and he vocalizes to let us know that we’re being damn slow getting his eats ready, he always seems to be on pitch with the music. We have a 3-story house and he sleeps downstairs, and has been known to howl to let us, lying abed like slugs in our upstairs eyries, know that he wishes his breakfast to be served.

His name is Albert, but we call him Little Benito…

Be afraid, be very afraid!

Well, at 3 am, I am soo glad I have kittycats. If poked, they only purr louder. And I can live sleep with that.

Kitties have their little ways. My college sweetheart’s mother had an enormous grey tom who would perch on her chest every morning at 4:30 on the dot, and lick her eyelids with his raspy tongue.

And the woman would get UP and give him BREAKFAST! He sure had her trained.