My mom had a friend in Maine, alas since passed away, who just loved basset hounds. Celia was one of those fiercely independent, crusty old Mainers; perhaps a tad too fond of the bottle, but someone who you knew could make it alone through the toughest winters. But Celia would turn to mush in the presence of a basset hound. One day when the three of us were walking around the Old Port section of Portland, we encountered someone carrying a basset hound puppy. Now, all puppies are cute, but in some breeds, the puppies are sort of like mini-me's of the adult dogs. Rottweilers are one; basset hounds are another. This little guy was just like an adult basset in miniature.
I was reminded of Celia and the basset hounds this morning as I read Tbogg's lovely memorial to his beloved Cooder. Funny how everyone's pet stories are so different, and yet so similar.
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