OLD PHOTOS

Somewhere there is a photo album that my parents had. It had an ivory colored cover and black pages with the little photo corners. In it was a photo of my Father, striding down the street of downtown Des Moines, Iowa. Very alpha-- he was-- wearing a white hat and a white suit and white shoes and his almost Mediterranean dark good looks. He was first generation American and spoke German before English, but he did not look German to me.
I can't find it.
It is my favorite photo of my Father but I don't know what happened to it. I have some of the photos from that album but not all.

This was taken in April of 1942. I was not even born. My Brother would be about a year old. Dad was a lawyer and during the war he worked in the Pentagon doing something that he never discussed. I always thought it was something very very secret and that he had all kinds of clearances and maybe it was and he did but as I have grown up I have begun to suspect he was a lawyer doing lawyerly type things for the Army and he just didn't talk about it. When I grew up everyone's Dad had been in the Army or Navy or whatever and none of guys talked about it, not even Mike McMichael who had been almost torn in two by machine gun fire, or Dick Dole who was some kind of Fighter Pilot hero.
They were very proud, those guys, but not gabby.

This is my Dad and his Mother, Rosa. When I look in the mirror now, it is Rosa whom I see looking back, except she kept her long grey hair and I cut mine off, and she was never fat. Grandma was deaf pretty much. This is how deaf she was:

My parents went out a lot. When we were younger they would leave Grandma to babysit. When my brother was about, oh, maybe 12 or 14 he had an air rifle. In our house in the living room was a huge picture window, and in front of it was the chair my Dad sat in all the time. When Grandma was there she would sit in that chair and read, which she was doing the evening my brother loaded the Daisy Air Rifle with God knows what, aimed it at the window from about 6 feet away and fired.

The window, needless to say, shattered in a gazillion bits.

My Grandmother never looked up.

She was a little German lady who ended her days in a mental institution, the victim of --we were told-- organic brain disease. I have no clue what it would be now. Suffice it to say she was quite daft and not in a good way.

This is my Mother. This is exactly the same expression she would have on her face when she walked into my bedroom forty years later and looked around at the unbearable chaos I constantly kept it in. This was my Mother: Helen Jeanette Berry in 1917. She was born the day the Titanic sank.

TOYS

Some time ago someone sent my dogs a toy that they loved to pieces. It was a chicken. It made a really funny noise and while it was for the Bassets, Cooper immediately stole it, then it stolen back by Llewis who took it everywhere for a few days until Conley got it and then Cooper took it back and then Nigel had it, and all summer it was outside being rained on, and cooked by the sun, and dragged and fought over and grew green stuff on it until finally one day someone chonked down too hard and broke it.

Like the woman in BEST IN SHOW I now began quest to Find The Chicken. How hard could it be? I started at PetSmart whenever I was there, and PetCo and neither place had it. I roamed through countless toy bins at dog shows and no one had it, altho they tried to sell me substitutes, forcing me to say "No it has to be the right chicken!" (IT'S A BEE! HE NEEDS HIS BEE!!!!) I
spent hours digging around through catalogs, online looking in various places and could not find THE CHICKEN.

Yesterday at the Nationals I poked through the Vendor tables, eyes always seeking the tell-tale plushy yellow chicken. No, it isn't latex. No, no-- it has some stuffing in it. Yes, I am sure it's a chicken. No it isn't flat like that.
Yes it makes a noise but no, sorry,not THAT noise. (THEY NEED THEIR CHICKEN IT HAS TO BE A CHICKEN!!!)

Then this morning I came across the old chicken, laying under some branches (did they bury it? mourning it's demise?) and I realised (slow learner) it has a beat-up, mud-covered, tattered tag!! I brought it in the house and learned that it is an "Ethical Product" so I began there.

Well no wonder I couldn't find it. I was looking at pet stores and vendors and places like that and where, exactly is it sold? WALGREENS.
So as soon as John is through shaving I am off to Walgreen's, money in my hot little fist, to buy another CHICKEN, and I will bring it home and each dog will look at it as if to say
"Yeah ok chicken big deal-- we had one once." And go off to dig another hole in the yard or look for something to eat that will make them sick.

HERE'S CONLEY

Yesterday evil MomPerson sent Conley to have his nails done, his toofies done (only two had any tartar on them and they weren't bad) and while he was out I shaved his whiskers. Easier to do when he is not moving.
He also got his shots. 3yr Rabies, Lepto, Bordatello (Or, "bordello" as half our clients call it unwittingly).
This morning I hauled him to class where, I am unbelievably happy to say he did quite well, even putting his tail up.

There is a catch.

This is Conley NOW:

The rug is dirty. I apologize. This is under my desk where I sit. The computer is above his head, the printer to his rear, Nigel's crate to his right and the TV above that. So this little alcove is his special spot. And he spends a lot of time here, but not quite this ....plopped.

Sometimes he is aware that I am not sitting right on top of him (and when I scoot the chair in--it has wheels and all the dogs have learned it has wheels) and so I run in and out and USED to slide over to the beading table which is now covered with junk or beading equipment of one kind or another. Please note the eagle-eyed, alert expression on Conley.

Since we got back from class he hasn't gone very far....poor baby. I think I actually wore him out. (He probably doesn't feel that hot but this was the last day of class.) I feel so mean, but he was certainly animated at the class!

                                        MEAN MOMMY.              

NO CONLEY

NO CONLEY!!!!!
Not out the front window
Not by the side door
Not on the bed
Not in the yard!!

It is very very quiet.
But
Where is CONLEY?

BASSET NATIONALS as explained by Cooper

Whazzu Nashunal, Nigel?
Don't nose, little man. Nebber seed won. Ax Uncle Cooper. He bin to sum.

Uncle Cooper, whazzu Nashunal?
Oooooh Boy! You goin?
Uh hunh

Nashunals biiiiiiiiiig dog show. Da ones i went to had only Belgians. No odder breed dere. Not allowed. Oh da bitches.....ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I thot you nootered.

Ahem. Yes well one can remember.

So I go an they just Belgians?

No, you go an they just Bassets, no Belgians, no Cockrs, no beegles.

How meny? I meen how meny Bassets be there?

Lots. You gotta show against lots. Takes a lotta time. They be the best Basset frum all ober da Country. From da eest an west an norf and souf.

You ok?

Yeah why.

Thot you was sneezling.

NO. Norf and Souf. Up an down parts ob da country. Big kennels. Pros. Da peepel on da leeshes, dey do dis for a livin. Dis dere job. And they very good. Peepels like MomPerson...ahh...well less juss say you mite well as hab a monkey on da leesh.

Oh great. So I goes to dis an sposed to be all spiffy an I gotta drag MomPerson round da square ring too? You jokin, rite?

No, sorry. I done it, you can too.

Didja win?

Ahhh...no. I gotted all cited an jumped up on da MPerson juss as da Judge walkering round. I no hab a chance enyways. I whut dey call OLD FASHUNT Belgian wiff big ears an a old timey head. But Ise a Champion. Ise finished. Juss not dere. How meny ob dem points you got?

Two.

Well you ain't gonna finish noway at dis. So just tucker up an hab fun wif da ladies. Dere be lotsa dem dere. Show you stuff. Member to meke MPerson smile in da ring not meke dat OMIGOD face. Member to stan up strait an KEEP YOU TAIL UP you little bugger or I meke you a bobtail when you gets home.
You nebber seed so meny Hounds in won spot. You fink youse guys a lot? Hah. You nuffin. Member dat tail. Ise not kiddin. You be da onliest bobtail Basset in da world. Now go away. I wanna fink on dose Belgian wimmin I met way beke dere.

Fanks Uncle Cooper.  Hunh. Bobtail indeed we see about dat.

I HERD DAT!!

YOU LOOKIN AT DA BESS IN SHOW HOUND!! BWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

WILD BASSETS

The weather was cool, breezy and perfect. This was the beginning.

Cooper watches carefully. Nobody must have too much fun. The watchdog watches intently to make sure this rule is not violated. However....Bassets rarely listen, even to him...

Things (Bassets in particular) seem to have a momentum all their own..

 And from that point on, it is useless to yell, bark, rattle boxes of treats. All you can really do it stand back and watch.

It looks worse than it is. I had at least not yet mowed the lawn, so nobody had turned green. That came later.

Sometimes there is even a time-out, but these are rare.

Then it starts all over anyway

And then it stops again, and there is quiet. And the Two Brothers watch their world.

And so it goes..... Until at long last
everyone is kind of worn out at least for a little while--

TEACHING BASSETS

My husband has decided that all the dogs should sit politely when they get treats.
He actually has had great success at this. I am both pleased and skeptical. It is my feeling that in order to score a Basset can be convinced to do almost anything. I have never met such a food-motivated breed of dog, altho I once had a hungry kitten scale my leg in a none-too-gentle manner to grab her plate.

Today as the dogs, for the 400th time, charged around the yard ballyhooing at each other at a time of the day that was not appropriate, I managed to get them all in by waving a little stick with leaves on it and calling TREATS TREATS. Fooled (I think) in the dim light, they came pouring across the deck sounding like a small herd of ponies. I got them all inside before they discovered the error. Sometimes they will get all the way to the door and then spin about and take off again.

While it is usually Conley they chase, it is also Conley who ends up on the bottom, rolling over and over as Nigel and Llewis "attack". I don't belong to the dog park altho there is one well within walking distance, because I am not sure what these Cowboys would do if another dog interfered, and am reluctant to experiment. They are a close-knit pack. It is entirely possible, in my mind, that an "outside" dog attempting to play would be seen as an intruder, and we would leave the park in disgrace. (Tails waving gallantly.)

Here is what I would like to teach the Bassets:

Not to scale the furniture as if it were a small mountain. In this photo there is no one in the chair but it rarely matters whether there is or not. Conley is an irrepresible jumper. He not only jumps up on us but he jumps at our faces, sometimes nipping. He has never hurt anyone, but it is a very annoying habit I would dearly love to break. I can say that yelling, pushing and kneeing him does not work at all. And if I am forceful enough, he is crushed. Why don't I love him anymore?

This evening I was escorting all three into the house when Conley began to leap at me from behind. I said

"AH!" very sharply and he stopped. I was pleased until I turned around and saw  Conley, frozen in place, staring at me with the most hurt look on his face...and of course I melted... He had leaped on me (nearly knocking me over since he usually hits me right behind the knees) in a fervor of love (so he would have me believe) and I had said AH! at him instead of "How is my best beloved"?  How do you train that? Is it real? Is he that smooshy? (I have evidence that he is, actually, that soft)

How could I not love everything he does when it is done out of love? (Or boredom.)
And meanwhile here is Nigel, flopped on his back directly underfoot, tail pounding the floor hopefully with Llewis woo-wooing at the top of his lungs.

No wonder Cooper hides.

In the course of our "training": the dogs will sit for John.
I am teaching Conley to sit "up" which he is very good at doing
And I have taught them "No, go all the way into the kitchen."

Conley is teaching ME that the word "crate" is a dirty word. This is new. Today I picked him up and threw him in, yelling CRATE I SAID CRATE GET IN YOUR CRATE

Which I doubt is in any of the training manuals, probably frowned upon by Cesar M who has no Bassets and equally by the Monks of New Skete who also do not have Bassets.

            But how do you stay mad at something as cute as a Basset?