Sloppy Ears

It has been my good fortune to have been associated with three generations of Bassett Hounds.

The hound of my youth, Boompa Aloysius Miller; the hound of my son’s youth, Beauregard “Beau” Henry Miller; and the hound of my daughter’s youth, Generosity “Genny” Mae Miller – all of them proud members of the great organization known as the American Kennel Club.

Yes, they all had proper papers, and each of them were unique in their own way.

Boompa was an engaging animal to say the least. He would engage the leg of any unsuspecting stranger with a multitude of gyrations. He was the only Bassett we would take hunting. Funny dog, Boompa was not afraid of a 12-guage shotgun blast. However, he had the most peculiar hunting style. His method was to follow the last hunter, until he felt it was time to lie down. At which point, the hunter would unload the shotgun, pick up the dog, throw him over a shoulder and carry him home. Great canine instincts had taken over. By the time he was five years old, the only thing Boompa ever managed to flush were cars. This is until one day a van ran him over. My father took him to the veterinarian, and a half hour later, he was back to humping things. Boompa never again chased cars.

Beau was as gentle a soul as I have ever had the privilege to encounter. For the first couple of years, the poor hound was left in a basement all day until we could get home to play and let him outside. He continued to believe our unfinished basement was his personal bathroom the rest of his life, sneaking down there when he felt nobody was paying enough attention to him.

When Beau was two, our son was born. There never was a dog as loyal to a baby as Beau. He would guard him every second, while playing with him during his waking hours. Boy and dog became best of friends, spending many happy hours together. Did I mention I learned from the dog of my youth and had Beau fixed (no humping).

Without a doubt, Genny was the most cantankerous beast I have ever known. Before she was a year old and we had her fixed, she experienced false labor, beginning a life long habit of nesting. Genny was not dumb by any means. She taught herself tricks when mere mortals failed at all attempts. Come, sit, stay and heel were meaningless jabbering to her. She did manage to master opening all doors both inside and to the outdoors.

Funny thing about opening the outside door, she never taught her self the fine art of closing it. Genny easily was able to unwrap Christmas presents and open boxes containing all edible items. “No” was a foreign word to her, as it became to our growing daughter.

After viewing the movie “Marley and Me” the other day, I remembered one of the main reasons we decided to never get another dog. It’s the heartache on a child’s face, when the decision is made to have to put your pet – really a member of your family – to sleep.

In the case of Beau, my son and very young daughter said their goodbyes at the vet’s office. In Genny’s case, her unwrapping of things was her undoing, as she ate an entire $100,000 candy bar – wrapper and all. Her stomach twisted, at the age of 13; there was no chance of recovery. On a Christmas Day, at an emergency veterinary clinic, my son and I said goodbye to our last Bassett Hound.

Alas all is not lost, for we have two of the best Bassett's ever Spartacus and Peanut. They stand vigilant guard in our front yard, of course they are concrete and never need to be fed, walked, or cleaned up after.

After all has been written and said, whether you own dogs, cats, hamsters or turtles, pets are good lessons in life, for any age and generation.

Pressure Idling Nicely No Meds Needed