The Turkey festivus is over. Let the holiday madness begin! It's not even December yet, and Christmas music is playing nonstop on the radio and in the stores. Twinkle lights by the thousands are blinding the neighbors, and people are spend, spend, spending, practically killing one another over Playstations and other stuff they and their kids don't need. Heck, I used to get just as excited over the dime store wind-up toy my grandmother sent every Christmas. How I anticipated the arrival of that mysterious brown parcel that came all the way from Texas. I only saw my grandmother twice in my life, but I still remember those toys she sent each year that probably cost less than a dollar. Of course, if I still had all those cheap tin wind-up toys, I'd have a very valuable collection. I remember the jumping organ-grinder's monkey that played the cymbals. That was my favorite. There was also a cat with a ball of yarn and a seal that balanced a ball on its nose. I found the seal in an antique store once and bought it. Whenever I look at it, I think of Grandmother Medlin and her thoughtful gifts she sent to a young granddaughter half-way across the country.

I took Bubba to PetSmart this afternoon. He enjoyed plodding around the store, sniffing everything and getting attention from everyone. There was another lady in the store with a basset, a little female that looked just like my long lost Dolly. She was almost entirely red, like Dolly was and had a snippy little muzzle, also like Dolly's. If I didn't know better, I'd think they were related. I asked the lady if she got her from a breeder or from rescue. She seemed offended that I would suggest her dog came from rescue. Like most people, she's not aware of the fact that you can get perfectly fine purebreds from rescue, and pounds and shelters, too. You don't have to pay a backyard breeder 100s of dollars for a dog that may have no better heritage than those rescue dogs do. Although her dog was a nice little dog, I could tell it was not very well bred, and I'll bet she paid a lot of money for her. I'm sure that little Brie the Basset had papers, for what that's worth. People mistakenly believe that if a dog has papers it's a show quality dog. That's not always so. All papers do is trace the lineage of the dog. A lot of papered dogs end up in rescue, so papers don't mean diddly squat to the dog and don't guarantee that it will have a forever home. All that really matters is that the dog is loved and well cared for throughout its life. Perhaps it's the people who should have papers guaranteeing that they are worthy of keeping a dog.

I was compelled to go back to the city pound today to see if the basset, "Daisy," was still there. If so, I was prepared to adopt her if only to get her out of that place. When I went to her cage, she was gone. I felt a mixture of relief and disappointment when I found out that she was adopted yesterday. I hope she got a loving home. I'm sure she was a good girl, just not quite the right girl for me, I felt.

I think I'm just going to stop searching for another dog for the time being. I have books to write and Bubba to dote on, and we are bonding more each day. We were unable to do that very well when Daisy was alive because she was so demanding of my undivided attention and bullied him so. If and when the time is right for another dog in my life, I trust he or she will come along with no effort on my part.

I went to see the pound puppy yesterday. I took Bubba along with me. I was the only one there to see her. Everyone else was waiting in line to see a litter of puppies. Typical. No one waits in line to adopt a five-year-old basset. I did not adopt her, either, it turns out, but not because of her age. I didn't really feel like we had a connection. The moment the kennel attendant let her out of her cage, she pulled like a train on the leash. She pulled so hard she broke the collar. Shades of Daisy. My Tizzy girl never did learn to walk on the leash without tugging, and I had the bursitis in my shoulders and chronic back pain to prove it.

I can certainly understand the little basset's eagerness to get the hell out of that cold, dirty place, and I'm sure she was distracted by her noisy, distressful surroundings. She dragged me out to the meet and greet area, but she was much more interested in smelling everything in sight than in interacting with me. That's the nature of a basset, of course, but she really just ignored me completely, which is not a good sign, in my opinion. I went out to get Bubba so he could meet her, anyway. I had reservations about bringing him into the facility, though. For one thing, he came from a pound, so I worried it might upset him. I was right. All the barking dogs were distressing to him and he kind of froze. And they say dogs don't have a good memory? His incarceration at the county pound was 9 years ago. He hasn't forgotten the experience. I was also a bit worried he might pick up kennel cough since he hasn't had a recent Bordatella vaccination. He's going tomorrow for one, but I hope it's not closing the barn door after the horse is out. I disinfected his paws when we got home.

They got along fine, but I decided to sleep on it before committing to another dog. However, I found out tonight on her Petfinder listing that they named her Daisy! She does look quite a lot like our dear old girl. I may go tomorrow for another look. Or not. Dog ownership is a lot like marriage--not to be entered into lightly or unadvisedly. The way marriages go these days, you could end up spending more time with that dog than with your spouse, so it's wise to choose carefully. After all, you could end up with a Marley or a Daisy.

It's been raining all day, and the whole house smells like wet dog. I suppose to most people that might be an unpleasant smell but not to me. Because if your house has that wet dog pong it means that you love your dog enough to let him in the house at all times, even when he's wet and smelly. I just hope Bubba dries out completely before bedtime.

I saw a female basset in the pound last week. She's a tri-color, five years old. I put my name on her list. She's available starting tomorrow, so I will go back to see her and get better acquainted, weather permitting. She was a stray, so her owners may have reclaimed her. I do hope so, because I could tell she was pining for them. Every time someone came past the kennel, she would dash outside to see if it was THEM. When she saw it wasn't, she'd retreat back inside and lie on her bedding until the next passerby appeared. That's how all pound puppies spend their days--looking for the one who usually never appears.