My teen idol, Paul McCartney, turned 64 today. I remember how old that seemed then. Doesn't seem so old now that Sir Paul is 64. I'm so glad that I went to see the Beatles twice when they came to San Francisco in the 60s. I just wish I'd defied my parents and gone to see them the third time at Candlestick Park, which turned out to be the last time they ever appeared on stage as a group. I still have my first Beatles fan magazine with the heart I traced around John Lennon's picture. He was the one I first fell in love with, but later I switched to Paul, who was of course the "cute" Beatle. John was the "sexy" one, as I recall.

As I was riding my bike through the park this evening, I spotted a beautiful tri-colored basset hound tied under a shade tree. His family was picnicking nearby. Of course, I had to stop and get acquainted with him, and he was only too happy to return the attention. He smelled my own dogs on me, I'm sure. His owner told me that "Stuffy" was a rescue dog from the SPCA. She said he was 15 pounds underweight when they first got him. Stuffy is looking a little puffy now. He had obviously earned his name and needs to lose some weight. Not a rib was visible under the layer of fat on his torso. Clearly, Stuffy is a counter surfing champ.

She asked me if all bassets drool, a trait that she didn't seem to like much, and I assured her that most do as Stuffy slobbered on my leg. I hope that fact won't cause the dog to eventually be surrendered, as is sometimes the case. If it's not the stubborn streak, it's the spit that people don't tolerate well with bassets. Nature of the beast. Seems like the SPCA should have warned her about this and that neat freaks need not apply for basset ownership. Some people pay a lot of money to get that fashionable spackled effect on their walls. A basset will sling drool for the same look free of charge.