Woodinville, the town to the east of Bothell, is basset hound crazy. Every year they hold a Basset Bash to celebrate the breed. It was originally held the Saturday nearest April Fools’ Day, but the organizers thought better of it when that date was rainy and cold for several years. (A park redolent with the smell of wet dog is not a pleasant thought.) It’s now held in mid-August, which is more congenial to both human and hound. This year’s Basset Bash was last weekend. I rode through the park earlier in the day. I didn’t see any bassets, but I could hear them barking.
Julian and I were musing about the basset hounds’ plans for world domination. (Yeah, right.) Here is what we came up with for the Basset Manifesto.
- Outlaw cats. My mother’s basset Clementine would have concurred with this bullet point. My 20-pound barn cat Shamus abused her horribly back in the day. When Clem was pregnant with her first litter of pups, Shamus used to sit on a stool in the kitchen and whack her on the butt as she waddled by. (Believe me, there are few things more pathetic than a pregnant basset hound just before whelping.)
- Position a sofa on every block. Hey, being walked is hard work. And there should be a kibble dispenser next to the sofa.
- Position two fire hydrants on every block. Not only is walking hard work, the bladder of a male basset hound is about the size of a walnut. Territory must be marked. Granted, the only other dogs marking the low end of the fire hydrant are chihuahuas, pugs, and Yorkshire terriers, but a basset hound can outspritz any of them.
- Curbs should be no more than four inches high. Those curb cuts are never where the hound wants to get on or off the sidewalk anyway.
- Any tasty table scraps or leftovers automatically go to the basset hound. This is an obesity prevention maneuver – for humans, not hounds.
- The cushiest seat or bed in the house belongs to the basset hound. The human has to attempt to squeeze onto the room that remains.
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