Dog Blog

Thursday, January 31, 2008

Peaches is so much like Dolly, my other little basset I loved so dearly. Peaches' personality is so similar to hers, and she loves to play with toys like Dolly did. None of my other bassets have been real toy freaks like these two. Dolly had her own Basset Basket, which I had to replenish regularly with new toys. Not very long after I adopted Peaches, she discovered Dolly's old toy basket, which has been left right where it was since Dolly was alive, a kind of memorial to her, I guess. I was so amazed and delighted when one day Peaches began sorting through the toys for just the right one to play with, exactly as Dolly would have. It was almost as though Dolly had returned to me. Perhaps she has, who knows? Could there be such a thing as dog reincarnation? Since life is cyclical and I believe they also have a spirit, I don't see why not. Surely, I have never bonded as strongly with any animal since Dolly as I have precious Peaches.

Peaches loves "Hedgie," the big fuzzy hedgehog squeak toy she inherited from her predecessor, Daisy, but her favorite toy now is "Foxy Loxy," which looks like a lady's fox fur boa. It looks incredibly lifelike, and sometimes I do a double take when I'm walking into the family room, since it looks like a dead animal lying on the carpet. Mrs. Santa Paws brought it for her for Christmas. Even though Mrs. Paws thought that $30 was quite a lot to spend for a dog toy, she's so glad that she put it under the tree for Miss Peaches, who is a good and deserving girl. What's great about Foxy Loxy is that it has two very loud and durable squeakers, which can be rather alarming to the household when I happen to step on Foxy Loxy in the middle of the night. There's one located at the fox's throat, which sounds more like a growl than a squeak, and there's a smaller squeaker in the long bushy tail. Peaches knows to go straight for the throat to get the best sound. Since bassets were bred to track and not kill their prey, I hope I'm not training her to be a wanton killer. Naw, I don't think so. She definitely doesn't exhibit any propensity for becoming a pit basset, but she shows poor inanimate Foxy Loxy no mercy.


Friday, January 25, 2008

Sunny California is not living up to its name lately. We have yet another rainy, blustery day. It's the kind of day that can lift a basset hound's ears like a pair of wind sails. My dogs don't seem to mind dragging Mom out into the cold, damp weather with her sinus infection, though. They would walk in any kind of weather, except they don't care for the summer heat.

Bubba has been acting like a pup the past two days. He is in his element when the weather turns chilly. He just wants to play all day lately, which makes it hard to get anything else done, but I know our days left to spend together are finite, even though he is going great guns at age 13. I give him all the time he wants. The rest can wait. He played "roll out the bagel" again this morning, batting at the pastry and flinging it like a doughy Frisbee.

I read the other day in a basset hound book that some live to be 17. I hope he will be one of those lucky hounds. He's already had a wonderfully long life, compared to the tragedy that nearly occurred. If I had not found him on his last day at the county pound and gone against my mindset about not adopting a male basset or my husband's about not wanting another dog, I would have missed out on a great companion and my furry muse who brought a mystery series to life and forever altered my life in positive ways I could never have forseen.

He seems to seek more attention from us lately, wanting to sit close to us on the couch or climb up in a soft lap, although it may also be his wanting to assert his Top Dog-ness over Peaches by claiming the coveted spaces in the house, and his owners, to whom he belonged long before she did. Still, you have to wonder sometimes if they intuit things that we, with our limited senses, cannot. They are the most amazing, miraculous creatures--love in its purest form.


Wednesday, January 16, 2008

I had a very snowy New Year and birthday at Lake Tahoe. It was Peaches' first experience in the snow. At first she didn't know what to think of it, especially when she stepped off the ski trail where the snow was compacted into a deep snow bank and sank right up to her neck in white stuff. Soon she was dashing through the snow, barking for joy. I hollered, "Mush, Peaches, mush!" She seemed to understand that and ran faster. All that was missing was a one-dog open sleigh. Bubba had been in the snow before and also enjoyed himself, although he's older now. He kept lifting his right leg as though he was in pain, and I worried he had a problem. It turned out that he just had a case of snow toe, where the snow would collect between his toes. Both dogs suffered from some canine cabin fever when the snow continued to fall for days until it was six feet deep. We could only walk them after the roads were plowed. We also had a little cabin fever when we couldn't even get out to our favorite Alpina coffee shop. My husband spent most of his time shoveling snow off the "poopdeck" because the dogs couldn't get out to the yard to do their business. Too much snow. It was a great holiday, though, and there's no place I'd rather be any time of year.