I crossed a picket line this afternoon to visit the county pound, but it was worth it. Guess what I saw? Yep, a basset hound. I was just crouching down to say hello to a pretty cocker spaniel when in the door from the outdoor pen bounded the most beautiful, glossy tri-colored basset. My heart did a little skip-beat in my chest when I saw him. He was really friendly, but not overbearing. A real sweetheart. He leaned into my hand and closed his eyes as I tried to pet him through the gap in the fence. When I stood up, he reared up on the cage door to reach my hand. He was pretty young, probably about a year old. He got along very well with his cell mate, also a male. His sign-up sheet was full, though, so he's probably going to be adopted. I'm not sure how well Bubba would accept a male in his territory, anyway. It still feels kind of soon to be embarking on adopting another dog; I'm still sad about Daisy and miss her terribly. But I might go out there on the 12th just to make sure someone takes him. The attendant said often people put their name on the sign-up sheet then don't turn up on the date because they make an emotional, spur-of-the-moment decision. So what else is new? That's pretty much the reason pounds and shelters exist. This dog was a stray (typical of a male basset; so was Bubba) and had no name, but I know the perfect name for him: Longfellow. He was one long dog!