Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Cue the music from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory:
"I've got a Gooooolden Ticket!, I've got a Goooooolden Ticket!", and please explain how Toula got the chocolate out of the wrapper but didn't eat the wrapper. Dude, what self-respecting dog doesn't eat the wrapper?
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Costco would be wise to decline this picture as advertisement for their dog beds.
Or, perhaps embrace it (there's no such thing as bad advertising, right?). A new ad campaign titled, "Your dog will love its bed so much, it will be crazy about it!*"
*meaning, certifiably insane. Some insanity limitations apply.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
(memo to self: create bumper sticker with graphic of basset hound that reads, "it's settled! my dog reached the bottom of the barrel!" get it? "settled" to the bottom? it's a little play on wor.....*sigh*....no, you're right: it sucks. Back to work.)
So, perhaps it really comes down to the dog, Dr. Coren, not so much the breed. Because you may think bassets are obtuse but my bassset Toula falls over dead when I make my fingers look like a gun and I yell, "Bang!"...most of the time. Stick that in your story and smoke it.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
When we go to the vet we always take both dogs so that they'll know a vet visit doesn't ALWAYS mean you get poked and prodded and stuck with sharp things. Sometimes your sister gets poked and prodded and stuck and you get to sit in the waiting room and read Dog Fancy magazine and listen to cats maraowwwwling from the next room.
So, it was Toula's turn to have an un-vet day. As you can see, our theory has worked, because she treated the visit like any other day at the office.
Toula, try to remain calm.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
OK, I can explain.
My BFF's 7 year old daughter was turning 8 recently, and when asked what kind of party she wanted she said, "a Hawaiian Dog party".
I know a little bit about Hawaii having been born and raised there, so I took on the challenge. The 7 year old LOVES Molly, so Molly became the Hawaiian Dog.
Wrapping a white sheet over a table laid on its side, I put a child's fake hula skirt and some plastic leis on Molly, and bobby-pinned a plumeria to her ear (yes, it stayed!). Then I prayed to the Hawaiian gods for forgiveness (I really don't mean to offend! No bolts of lightning or lava flows, pleeeeze), and for a small treat she sat there for about 40 pictures until I got one just right.
After a bit of photoshopping ("Hau'oli la Hanau" means "Happy Birthday" in Hawaiian), we printed the pic on iron-on transfers and made tshirts for all the little girls attending the party.
Add some decorations and Hawaiian-type food, and this little girl had one blastin' pool party!
I'm not one to put pics of kids on the internet, so I smoodged out their faces a bit. But you get the idea. Super cute Tshirts custom made for the party!
I think I'll get Molly an agent. Her list of demands will be short: Trader Joe's peanut butter, ham, short walks, and lots of snuggling on demand.
Ahhhh...a Hawaiian dog can dream....Or, as the Hawaiians say, "moe'uhane".
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Seriously, it makes us laugh when people ask if the Bassets "bay". Uh, no, they moo. It's hard to explain unless you've heard it, so here ya go.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
So, we crossed the really busy street, rounded the corner, and aimed for an area where the sidewalk is bordered by low-lying dry grasses. Suddenly, Toula began sneezing.
This is not unusual, but on this day she immediately started frenetically achooing as if she were spasming. Violently shaking her head, she was flinging out giant globs of snot.
Toula is a skilled snot thrower, so I wasn't too surprised at this until I realized the snot was a particular crimson color. I knelt down to take a look and to my shock found a thick trail of blood streaming out her left nostril. She had inhaled something that sliced open the inside of her nose.
Now, I do multitasking for a living, so I instantly started mind-stacking how I was going to repond to this. It went a little like this:
First: don't panic. Well, maybe a little. Put Panic Level on Defcon One.
Second: Pull cell phone out of back pocket while holding one wildly flailing dog and restraining second oblivious dog who is pulling me toward a pile of some other dog's poo for a grand sniff.
Third: Dial veteranarian, made more difficult by a touch-screen phone that doesn't respond to fingers being jerked by two dogs.
Fourth: Utter "godDAMMIT!" when vet's office voicemail announces office closed 4 minutes ago, eliciting disapproving stares from older couple across the street. Say small prayer apologizing to God, and move Panic Level to Defcon Two.
Fifth: Briskly jog blood-snot-flailing and poop-sniffing dogs home for probable ride to pet hospital. Calculate likely bill from pet hospital and commence preparation for Explaining To Husband.
After putting the dogs in the back yard I grabbed a towel and held it to Toula's nose, swiftly realized this was actually suffocating her (oops), grabbed the camera to video-capture the event so I could inform the vet better, then realized as I pulled the towel away that she'd stopped the sneezing, and the blood was no longer flowing.
What the...? Was it the run home? The magic towel and almost-suffocation?
I grabbed a flashlight and peered up her nostril where I could see a little bit of bleeding, but that was all. Oddly, the blood flow had stopped as quickly as it had started.
After ratcheting my Panic Level back to Normal I decided to wait 10 minutes before making any further decisions. Ten minutes later both dogs were whining at the back door so I thought, What the hell? and grabbed up the leashes, started out down the street and had another go at the walk.
This time we turned to the left at the end of the street. I think there's something to be said for sticking to the status quo.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A woman at the beach asked me how old Molly and Toula were, and when I told her Molly was 9 and Toula 7 she was amazed. "Most older Bassets I see are FAT!" she said.
"That's because people overfeed them," I said, "and it's sad because they were bred for hunting rabbits. They can run pretty fast."
She looked at me with a, Yeah, whatever..., look in her eye, but I said, "Give her a few minutes and you'll see...". Here's what we got. Zoom! Pretty good for an old lady of 9. Note the skitter-pat-skitter-pat sound made by her flipper feet.
(That's Big D at the very end saying, "Moll-moll..., one of his 67 his pet names for Molly.)
So, how do we know when it's time to go home? When Molly looks like this. I thought the sand and dirt was bad enough, but about 3 minutes later she found a stinky pile of kelp and rolled around in it. Lord, save me, I love that dog.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
This week the lowdogs editor (moi) has been extremely busy. Accordingly, I passed the responsibility of updating the photo journal to Big D. Unfortunately, I neglected to remember that his most favorite thing to do with the dogs is to watch them sleep because he is desperately in love with Molly and thinks she's The Most Adorable Dog That Ever Lived.
As usual, when he handed the camera back to me I was presented with multiple photos of Molly sleeping. Seriously, we have about 1,347 pictures of the dogs asleep, asleep on top of the sofa, asleep on top of the sofa and 'holding the tv remote' between their paws, asleep on top of the sofa 'holding the remote' with me catatonic under them after a long day at work (not my finest hour).... You get the drift.
I love Big D and he's a very active and masculine guy, but this fixation he has on how cute the dogs are when they sleep...well all I can say is Thank God, sister, because let's face it, I'm not getting any younger, and someday it will be ME drooling when I sleep, with a face sliding off my skull, snoring and snorting and jerking my legs like I'm running. And believe me, I'm going to be damn happy that he thinks this is So Cute.
OK, he's right. This is the cutest smooshy face I've seen at least in the past week. Aww.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Let me set one thing straight, Your Honor: I have never killed a wabbit, nor have I ever caused a wabbit to be killed. There was this one very unfortunate incident involving a rattlesnake that entered our yard and slithered itself up to our back door, and all I can say is that shovels are really weighty and it never felt a thing.
So, recently my neighborhood has been overrun with wabbits and I'm starting to understand why the French snack on them. Speaking of French, the lowdogs were BRED by the French to HUNT RABBITS. I'm not pulling your leg, go look it up.
OK, so here's what I saw the other day out my kitchen window.
This beautiful little furry creature of God and his/her relatives and/or friends dine on every plant in my yard and deposit little ball-shaped turds e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e. Oh, and they pee, too, which leaves little bunny-butt sized burn marks everywhere.
So, I think to myself, "Hey self, wouldn't it be great to have a natural remedy to this problem?" At which point I embark on a hunt (pun intended) for the 'natural remedy' that I just fed some very expensive kibble and leftover steak to about 15 minutes ago.
This is where I found the Mighty Hunter:
OK, do you see her giving me that evil eye?
Seriously, it's like having a teenager in the house.
Suffice it to say, Wabbit and all his/her little furry friends/relatives will be assured of living a long and glorious life in my yard.
Chalk up one for the Wabbit Union.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
The dogs enjoyed their day in the sun, which frankly was a nice break from the recent frigid 62 degree temps. I'm not sure how we survive it, but in the evenings we actually have to put on a sweatshirt to walk the dogs because it's so damn cold. A couple nights ago I wore flip flops on my walk and I'm happy to announce that I avoided frostbite by jogging with the dogs to keep my blood flowing. Phew.
Toula was in her element sniffing around the lake, looking for random things to put in her mouth, and dragging me along for the ride. The result of which was a 6" long snot trail across her nose, which I had to photograph just for you. Just keepin' it real. You're welcome.
Her little pink tongue is cute, though, isn't it? Try to focus on that.
Friday, February 13, 2009
"We would like to thank Plein Texas for her sweet comment with which we have to agree:
I told my grandkids that bassets are really princesses and princes in a hairy form and we have to be especially good to them.
Speaking of hairy princesses, we feel that Basset hair is really princess fairy dust. Accordingly, we cannot understand why Daddy howls in the morning when he gets it on his black slacks. Why wouldn't he want to take our fairy dust to work, to share with all the other mortals? Something we ponder."
Happy Valentine's Day from your two princesses. Arroooh!
Saturday, February 7, 2009
lowdogs have a nightly routine. As soon as we go to turn off lights around the house, they know it's "nightie night time" and they they must (1) go outside to "go potty!", (2) come inside for cottage cheese [see previous story about Miss Molly's acid reflux], (3) go upstairs to the bedroom, (4) receive a small cookie treat, (5) get into their dog beds, and (6) quiet time.
And, they do this like clockwork. It's as if they're circus performers who have practiced endlessly and perform perfectly every night.
However, periodically Big D will throw the routine off. He will suddenly remember that he has to send an email, or rebuild a motorcycle engine, and he doesn't come to bed with everyone else.
lowdogs can't handle that. So, they wait and wait and wait for him. I have to shout through the door, "Open carefully or you'll hit a snout!". As soon as he comes in, they can get into their beds, but not a second before.
God help us all if he's an hour late, because they will wait like this until...until...until...
Molly in particular is in love with her Daddy and will pine for him until the end of time.
This is what makes me think that in some cases, your soulmate isn't always a human. Hunh.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
First, this article that speaks to Basset advocacy (hunh?).
Second, this most hysterical video below, including flying Basset lips. (Please note that in fairness we attempted to find information on Bassets for McCain, but found nothing. Perhaps that was why he did not prevail? You decide.)
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Miles is a pup owned by the folks who run the local Basset Rescue. He's a cool dude with soft fur and just the right amount of drool.
At the end of the day, just as we were all leaving, he decided to sing for us...Arooh!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
...and the 'most unusual' are:
1. Rush Limbark
2. Sirius Lee Handsome
4. Low Jack
6. Peanut Wigglebutt
7. Scuddles Unterfuss
8. Sophie Touch & Pee
9. Admiral Toot
"Admiral Toot"?! That is just damn funny. I'm sure that Toula would be high on the unusual name list, but it doesn't carry a very large giggle factor.
Actually, my current favorite dog name is Biscuits Jackson. Doesn't that sound like the name of your cousin who could totally score you some righteous organic? (I'm talking dog biscuits here, people, relax!).
Thanks to Laura for the dog name article!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
So, last night we're clicking around the stations and for a moment we considered watching The Bachelor so we could bag on the crazies who throw themselves at that narcissistic dude, then suddenly noticed "Dogs 101" on Animal Planet. They were highlighting, among others, Basset Hounds. WOOT! Sadly, they spent 10 minutes per breed and Bassets only got a smattering of information, which was highly disappointing. Frankly the whole show should have been on Bassets, can I get an A-MEN? I mean, do we really need to know that Boston Terriers are known for flatulence (wtf?) and Shar Pei have black tongues? Gross! Bassets were bred by French aristocracy, people!
If you wish to view 10 minutes of Bassetness, it's showing again on Jan. 18 at 3pm (USA, only). We suggest you DVR or Tivo it so you can scan through the Lesser Breeds to get to the yummy, ooey gooey rich and chewy Basset-y middle part. Animal Planet
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Happy 2009! In honor of the new year we allowed Molly and Toula to sleep in our bed with us last night. It was a Two Dog Night (1970's band reference, anyone?? ok, yeah, I know it's 'three dog night', smartypants), ha ha. Anyhoo, our gardeners, who come every Thursday, decided it was Just Another Thursday and showed up at 7:30am to blow our yard and turn on the Loudest Lawn Mower In The World, which caused the dogs to LAUNCH out of bed, barking and aroohing and hollering. Yeee-owza. I had to pull clothes on and feign a smile as I 'Happy New Year!'d them out the back door.
The gardeners get one point for reliability, but minus one point for the hangover headache. Sigh. I guess it could be worse. We could live in the snow. **shudder**
This morning as we tried to watch the Rose Parade, Molly decided we should watch her, and climbed on my lap.Let me be perfectly clear: BASSETS ARE PACK ANIMALS. If you think you can have just one, or be one of those "leave the dog in the yard" families, don't get a Basset.
But, if you want to start your new year with a warm, lovey dog in your lap who smells a bit like Fritos, periodically jams her wet nose into your face, and leaves long strands of hair on your shirt, get a Basset.