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.