Basil Speaks

Cocoa

Wed, 02 May 2007 02:25:27 GMT

Cocoa is a Red Sox fan:

My two-legged sister's tribute to Coriander

Sat, 21 Apr 2007 00:26:10 GMT

This was written by my human sister:

January 29 was a very sad day: One of my family's dogs died very unexpectedly. Coriander (Cori) was only 7 1/2 when she passed away from liver cancer -- an illness we didn't know she had until 45 minutes before her death. I am still kind of numb and sorting out my feelings.

Cori has a special place in my heart because we got her to help me get over my first dog's death. Ginger was my very first dog. She was a basset hound, and I got her when I was six years old. She was just an 8-week-old puppy when we brought her home, and I totally fell in love with her. She slept in my room and was kind of a best friend to me in many ways. She was stubborn, stinky, snored really loudly, produced incredibly huge drools, and stole food all the time, but I loved her so much that all of these traits were endearing to me. She had a very soft belly that she loved to show off and have people rub, and she would tolerate ANYTHING you wanted to do to her, from dressing her up to jumping on her. When I was 20 years old, Ginger passed away at the very old age of over 14. She had been quite sick (actually, I think she had liver cancer, too) for a couple of weeks, refusing to eat, being lethargic, etc., so we all saw it coming, but didn't want to accept it. For the last few days, we were forcing her to eat Karo corn syrup (to this day, I still can't bear to look at the bottles of Karo in the grocery store) to keep her alive. She had gotten so thin, and while she was still loving and affectionate, you could see her suffering. We brought her in to the vet, and he told us that she was very ill. It was possible to do surgery, but it would likely not help, and she would suffer a lot. We chose to let her pass into sleep peacefully (euthanize), which I was there for and cannot bear to write any details about, because it was the most painful day of my life. I don't think I'll ever be able to talk about it, because it tears me up to remember...I try very hard not to. It's already breaking me down right now. I need to cry over Cori, so that's probably a good thing--writing this is helping me grieve for Cori, actually, which I've been having trouble doing, for some reason--but I can't go into that day with Ginger.

After we put Ginger to sleep, I came home and basically collapsed with grief. I couldn't stop crying. That was the only time in my life I understood what it means to be depressed. The next day, I didn't want to get out of bed. Being awake meant realizing that Ginger was gone, and I couldn't bear it. Every time I woke up, I just forced myself to drift back into sleep. It was just easier like that. I don't think I really ate anything either. I just remember lying in my parents' bed all day. They were really worried about me. The next day, they forced me to get up and go to the public pool with them and my brother, and I remember that all I did was lay out to tan, because I could just fall asleep and try to forget about what had happened to my life.

But I believe I also did some thinking while I was lying there, because I remember getting home and telling my mom that I couldn't take it anymore. Cinnamon, our German Shephard/lab/golden retriever (???) mix, was still around, but I still felt like there was something missing. I felt like I just wanted to walk around the house looking for Ginger. I needed that warm, fuzzy being in my life, and I couldn't bear the emptiness of her absence. And while I was laying there, I realized what would fix that problem and give me an outlet for all of my feelings: We needed a puppy.

I wasn't replacing Ginger. She was so unique and special. She could never be replaced. Instead, I felt that Ginger had taught me a lot about how to love another being, and I needed to pass that on -- kind of like a legacy. And I just needed another warm, fuzzy belly to nuzzle, long ears to stroke. So my mom set about calling rescue agencies and breeders. I was adamant that I needed a female puppy -- it's just how I felt at the time. The rescue groups didn't have puppies, so after several hours of making calls, my mom found a breeder in West Virginia who had a litter of 12-week-old puppies with one unclaimed female. We immediately got in the car and drove through the boondocks to get to this breeder. Turns out that she was a "backyard breeder" -- a pejorative term that means someone who breeds for profit without paying attention to bloodlines, which is considered bad by many because backyard breeders don't try to breed out negative traits and genetic conditions...although many might argue that the whole pedigree-breeding thing is a crock anyway -- but we didn't know that at the time. Really, though, it didn't matter, because when she brought us into the barn, showed us the two or three puppies behind the gate, and pointed out which was her unclaimed female, we were instantly in love.

Cori was the cutest puppy ever. She was floppy, tricolored, and just adorable. Instantly, I felt so much of my grief wash away. It's not that it was OK that Ginger was dead -- FAR from it -- but at least we were giving her a legacy, and we could love that legacy so much. I just felt like something good had come of something so horrible. I would put all of my love and affection into Cori...which wasn't hard, because she was so cute and sweet.

I remember that she conked out in the car ride home. Actually, we didn't go straight home. Instead, we went to a family friend's house to show her off. We put her on the leash -- she was so small -- and walked her around and were just enamored with her. It was wonderful to be able to focus our energy on something so positive and fresh and innocent.

All of this happened in July 1997. That summer, I was responsible for raising Cori, which I TOTALLY wanted. She was my baby. We initially tried to crate train her. The first night, we tried to put the crate in my room, but she kept crying and wanting to come out, so we had to take it downstairs to the living room. But I heard her crying and crying, so I came downstairs and ended up sleeping next to her crate until I woke up later and she was asleep, and I could go back to my bed. The second night was the same. By the third night, she had gotten much better. That was the summer I worked at home as an editor (my first summer editing), so I was home all day with her. It was so much fun raising a puppy! Cori was just so cute and funny. We tried to crate her for a couple of hours during the day, to get her used to it, but she wasn't having it. She would whine and look at me with those sad basset eyes, and I just couldn't take it; I'm such a softie. I ended up letting her out and playing with her. We also had a lot of mishaps during that time, because our backyard fence was old and decaying and had a lot of holes in it. She kept escaping, and then we'd patch the hole she went through, only to find her wriggling out through a new hole. Finally, we got all the holes (although that wasn't until after Basil came in August, but that's a whole other story).

I basically raised and trained Cori. She never was an obedient dog (bassets typically aren't), but the one thing I taught her to do really well was to give doggie kisses. Instead of biting (which little puppies do a lot), she learned to give licks. She always put a lot of oomph into her licks.

Gosh, I remember being so elated when we got her. My mom still has on the wall a photo of her and me from her first trip to the vet, which was probably the day after we got her. I'm holding her in my arms and smiling this gigantic smile -- I felt so much better after those couple of days of intensive grief.

When the summer ended, I went back to college. But Cori and I were always special to each other. I lived with my parents for a year or so a couple of years after we got her, and of course, I came for many visits while I was still in the area and even while I've been here in Boston. Cori always cried and got very excited when I walked in the door.

Cori was a total princess. I guess I spoiled her when I was raising her. It was just so hard to discipline such a cute dog! She ended up getting addicted to smoked pig ears (a common dog treat) and demanded one every night. She even manipulated my mom into giving her a massage (!) every night at 10!!! How? Well, when it was time for the massage, she would come to my mom, wave her front feet at her, and whine whine whine until you couldn't take it anymore; you had to give in. That might sound annoying -- and really, it was -- but it was also Cori, and you had to love her. She loved to show her belly to people for a belly rub. We called it a rubber belly, because it had the consistency of rubber -- a good thing, believe it or not. And she had a gorgeous howl and would do it on command. Well, command in this case is if you howl at her for a while, so perhaps she had us trained to howl more than we had her trained to do it! "Woo woo woo woo woooooooo!" she would always say.

That was 7 1/2 years ago, almost. Sadly, Cori aged very quickly. She started going gray at age 4 or 5. Her teeth also didn't do that well even though my parents took decent care of them. While the vet would look at Cinnamon's teeth and say, "If it weren't for the age her teeth show, I would guess she's 6 years old instead of 14," he would look at Cori's and say, "From the condition of her teeth, if I didn't know better, I'd think this dog was way older than she actually is." So maybe she was meant to have a short life. But her death was just so sudden anyway. She showed signs of sickness only since Thursday, when she didn't eat all of her food. On Friday, she refused a pig ear -- very out of character for her -- although she accepted it later. And then she started peeing on the carpet and throwing up a few times, so my mom took her to the vet today. The vet was open till only 1 today, so he told my mom to take Cori to the emergency clinic so that she could be checked out instead of having to wait until Monday. At the emergency clinic, they were a bit baffled. Cori's stomach was VERY distended, and when they withdrew fluid, there was blood in it. They were thinking enlargement of the spleen or liver, or perhaps cancer.

At 8 pm, they started their exploratory surgery, and at 8:45 they called my parents to tell them that Cori was full of liver tumors, some as big as tennis balls, that were bleeding. This was so sudden and so rapid. Cori had a vet checkup only a month ago, and she was given a clean bill of health, including normal liver enzymes -- which were gauged to be through the roof today. They said they could put her back together and let her live out her few remaining days in pain, or they could just have her pass into a permanent sleep. We chose the second option, so that she wouldn't have to suffer.

I guess I'm still in a stage of disbelief. I wasn't there -- I'm here in Boston, of course -- and so it's harder for me to feel that she won't be there when I go visit next. In many ways, though, I'm glad I'm not there, because I could never go through what I went through with Ginger again. But I'm still just sorting out my feelings. In some ways, I feel really bad, because I feel that I wasn't as close to Cori as I used to be. My parents have a lot of dogs now, and I myself have my OWN dog, Cocoa, who is basically a child to me. So I worry that I neglected Cori in the more recent years, although I always loved her. I kind of feel guilty, too, because I took the news pretty stoically -- which I certainly wouldn't have done if it were Cocoa. I think I'm waiting for it to hit, which it kind of is, but not completely. I mean, my mom was SOBBING on the phone...but part of it is that I was in a restaurant with Jack and his friend at the time, and I think part of me knew that I had to keep my composure. I felt kind of sick on the drive back home, but that might have been because I ate way too much at the restaurant (well, it was a sushi buffet, so what can you expect?). I don't know. I feel sort of knotted up inside. I feel like she's still alive, only I can't see her -- which is natural, because I'm 8 hours away. I feel like this is some weird dream or other dimension. And then I remind myself that I will never see Cori again, and then it hits. But then it goes away. I don't know. I wish I got to say goodbye, but that would have been really hard to take -- and I definitely wouldn't have wanted her to have been kept alive to give me time to get down there. That's not right.

It's kind of weird, though, because my dad was saying that we chose the humane option...and I thought that word choice was ironic, since "humane" is obviously related to "human"...and so many PEOPLE suffer with horrible terminal illnesses, but we refuse to give them the humane end to their suffering. Not that I'm some kind of big euthanasia advocate or anything, but I still thought it was interesting.

Anyway, I guess I'm just trying to come to terms with this. It just hasn't sunk in. There was nothing we could have done -- this cancer happened SO rapidly -- so I don't feel like we messed up. And she lived a wonderful 7 1/2 years, with very very much love and affection. So her short life was well lived. But it's just so strange thinking that she won't be there when I go to my parents' house. It just doesn't feel real.

It's kind of like when my ex-boyfriend died. Maybe I'll tell that story sometime, but the gist of it is that he was gunned down by a white supremacist as he was entering church on Sunday, July 4, 1999. (He was Korean.) It made national news. Anyway, I hadn't seen him for over 2 years or talked to him for not much shorter than that, but I still had thought of him often and had even tried to contact him to say hi three weeks prior to his death, not realizing that he had gone on to a different school and thus wasn't at the e-mail address I wrote to. He and I had remained friends after our breakup, and in fact we almost got back together (although the result surely would have been the same) back in summer 1997. He had invited me out to Illinois so that we could talk and think about things again, and I almost accepted his invitation, but then Ginger died...and then we got Cori, and I had to take care of her...so it never worked out. Anyway, so when I found out about his death, it was so strange, because while nothing had changed, everything had changed. What I mean is that my daily life didn't change. I hadn't seen him or talked to him, and I continued not seeing him or talking to him. But it was so hard to comprehend that I never had the option of talking to or seeing him again. I felt like I needed to search the world in every single corner just to prove that he wasn't hiding somewhere. It was hard to understand that it was impossible.

That's how I feel about Cori. My life is still the same here. But now I'm told that there's no more Cori, and I'm just so used to there being Cori that it's hard to understand that I don't have the option of seeing her anymore.

My feelings about death are very complicated. You know, I'm not a religious person at all. I used to be Christian, and it just wasn't me. I don't buy the concept of faith. The thought of a heaven just doesn't make sense to me. It's a very lovely thought, but to me, that's all it is -- a thought. It's a thought that people like to have because it makes them feel better about something that brings them so much grief. And for some people, maybe that's why it's so important to have that belief -- that is, to have that conviction that death is NOT the end. And that's such a comforting idea, but I can't bring myself to believe something just because it's nice and it makes me feel better. (Anyone who's Christian, reads this, and feels compelled to try to convince me that I'm wrong, well, I appreciate the effort, but I actually have thought this one out really well. I don't feel like going into it here, but I'm not just making bold statements here; I really have fleshed out my thoughts on this one. Actually, that's the main reason my murdered ex-boyfriend and I broke up -- he was Christian and needed to be with someone of his faith.)

So death is difficult, because I don't think it leads to continued existence of some sort. Well, actually, my position is agnostic: I simply don't know, and I accept that I don't know. I suspect that nothing happens after death...or if something mystical really IS going on, I have a stronger gut feeling toward the concept of a kind of rebirth, but not a spirtually continuous rebirth. Anyway, so I simply don't know what happens when people die, and I accept that. But the burden for me is that there's no real comforting thoughts that one can have with this belief. I see death as a part of life. Everything ends. I really admire cultures that are more accepting of death than Western culture. For example, many Chinese seem to take death in stride; it happens to everyone at some point, and we can't expect for something different to occur for a particular person. I know it's cliche, but death really is a part of life. If death didn't happen, this word would be FILLED beyond the brim. And when it happens, it's horrible and sad for the living, since they will miss the person or animal that used to exist, but no longer does -- but you have to accept it.

But when it DOES happen, it sometimes makes me feel a twinge of despair, like everything is for naught in the end. I think what keeps people going is that death makes way for new life -- kind of like how Cori's new life took up where Ginger's life ended. When someone dies, there's that moment of "Why do we even bother when we have to deal with this pain?" -- kind of like a brief moment of "Why is life worth living when we have to suffer so much loss?" But then I remember the joys of new life -- and not just of new life, but of so many things in the world. There are so many lovely, wonderful things to enjoy, and I try very hard to remember that when I get that twinge of despair that comes from realizing that it DOES all end in loss. Maybe the best way to see things really is as a "circle of life," because death isn't necessarily an end. It's just part of a cycle that includes birth, death, and everything in between. That's how it's been for millions of years, and we're no more special or exempt than anyone who lived 4,000 years ago. It was all real to them then, and what we have is real to us now.

Maybe most people can't stomach the idea of no "ultimate" purpose in life, but I guess to me, the ultimate purpose is to live a full life and to feel deeply.

Well, I guess I'm going to be sorting things out for a while now. I know she was "just a dog," but to me, dogs are some of the most incredible creatures ever, and Cori was a sweet, loving one who brought a lot of joy into my life at the time I needed it most. I am just so glad we could give her a happy, warm, stable life with lots of doggy friends and human love. Oh yeah, and a kitty friend, too -- she LOVED my kitty Brie and would always lick her when I brought Brie to their house.

I will definitely miss Cori, my beautiful, sweet minihound.

Mom is crazy.

Mon, 11 Sep 2006 21:07:33 GMT

Mom has been playing this crazy game with us. It's called catch the crocodile, jump on top of it, squeeze it hard, kiss it all over its face, and run away. During the game she keeps screaming, "Crickey. Isn't she [(or he) depending which one of us becomes the crocodile] a beauty." She puts on this crazy accent, too; and, she calls us "mate." She is so crazy. We are loving it. It's a lot of fun (especially the part where she hugs and kisses) .

Mom says that she is playing this game because somebody important in the rescue world died. She said that he rescued lots of animals (not bassets, though). She said that the animals he rescued nobody respected. Since mom considers herself a rescuer, she says that she mourns the passing of this great man. His name was Steve Irwin, and mom says that the Rainbow Bridge will have a great celebration for those animals that were not respected, but should have been respected. Mom says all animals are creatures that need to be respected and valued. Unfortunately, a few people don't do that. I know, I was once a rescued dog. Mom rescued me, Zack, Cinnamon, Cocoa, Brie (our yellow cat), and Camembert (our white cat), and we love her for it.

Mom likes to play with PhotoShop

Tue, 18 Jul 2006 20:15:59 GMT

My two-legged sibling took some pictures of Cocoa. Unfortunately, Cocoa's eyes were shinning because of the flash in the camera. Right away, mom had to play with Photoshop. Here's an account of what she did:

Here's the original photo. Notice how the flashlight reflects off of Cocoa's eyes and makes her look possessed.

Now, mom wanted a close-up of Cocoa, so she altered the photo like this:

Mom didn't like Cocoa's possessed look, so she added some eyes to the picture:

Then, mom was horrified to see that our door looked so scratched up. (What did she want? We need to scratch the door to let her know that we, the Spice Hounds, need to go out to do our business: bark, run, sleep under the sun, and go to the bathroom.) So mom decided to alter the photo to look like this:

Isn't mom crazy to do all of this? Here's what Cocoa really looks like:

Cocoa, the destroyer.

Oh, yes, in case you couldn't tell, mom altered Cocoa's eyes in this picture as well.

Here's a good picture of Cocoa with her own eyes. She is pretty, don't you think?

I Miss Cinnamon

Sun, 14 May 2006 21:16:11 GMT

I miss Cinnamon a lot.

Here's mom's eulogy and Cinnamon's story:

She came to live with us when she was about 1 or 2 years old. We found her wandering around our local high school. My husband was rehearsing there. He was Ali Hakim in our local theater's production of Oklahoma. This cute dog was following me. Our town’s high school is located near a busy road and I was afraid that she might be run over, so I brought her home with me. I didn’t even think that I may have a problem with my other dog at home. My dog Ginger (a purebred basset hound) was 6 years old. Basset hounds are accepting dogs and there was no problem introducing the new dog to her.

GINGER

Mom's Eulogy to Ginger

My children were ecstatic. They were getting another dog. I warned them that this dog was not ours. I was keeping it until the rightful owner would claim her. I put up ads everywhere. I informed all the local vets. No one claimed her. After 3 months, she became ours. We named her Cinnamon Amber. She became our second spice.

Life was not that easy with the dogs at first. There was jealousy. Cinnamon beat up Ginger a few times. Ginger had an L.L.Bean bed. Cinnamon had a makeshift bed. I told hubby that Cinnamon wanted one as well. “Sure,” he said. “She told you that? Come on, stop anthropomorphizing.” Cinnamon beat up Ginger to such an extent that we had to go to the vet have her ears stitched up (10-12 stitches). That's when I decided to buy another L.L.Bean bed. We never had another fight.

CINNAMON

Cinnamon became hubby’s best friend. She was my greatest pal. When Ginger died, Cinnamon became the matron dog of a large pack: Coriander, Basil, Cocoa, Zack Curry were her charges.

CORIANDER
(See her memoriam at http://www.bhrescue.com)

BASIL

COCOA

ZACK CURRY

When Coriander left for the Bridge, Caraway was her newest pack member.

Carrie, the day she came home to us

Sadly, Cinnamon followed Coriander seven months later.

She lived with us 14 beautiful years. She was 16. Her downfall began on Friday morning on 8/26 when she started coughing. We thought that she may have lung cancer. But, since we don't smoke, the vet did not think that was a possibility. The vet thought that she may have caught a bacterial infection from her rotten teeth. She sent us home with some antibiotics, and we thought our troubles were over. Cinnamon's cough got worse and she started throwing up as well. We thought that she may have had a reaction to the antibiotic and the vet told us to let's wait out the weekend, and if there was no improvement, they would x-ray her.

I started giving Cinnamon boiled chicken with rice and that seemed to help her digestion, but not her cough. So, on Tuesday we took her to be x-rayed. They found out that she had megaesophagus. (Her esophagus was larger than most dogs’ esophagus.) This we were told is not unusual with dogs that have a thyroid conditions (which Cinnamon had). We were told to give her small meals, more frequently (not a hard task). I asked them whether I should continue giving her my boiled chicken and rice. They told me to just give her the regular dog food that we usually give her, but add water to it to make into a gruel-like consistency. Happily, we brought her home.

We prepared Cinnamon’s first gruel meal. She took one bite, coughed, made a 90 degree turn, her face froze in a “smile-growl” state. She took two steps, fell under my bed, and started shaking vigorously. It looked as if she was dying. I realized just then that she was having a seizure. It took a few seconds. It felt like an eternity. When she finished, she tried to get up. I helped her; she fell again, and went through another seizure. This time, she even started foaming at the mouth. This one also, lasted a few minutes. I called the vet. They felt that she may have had a seizure due to the stress of being away from home. I didn’t really buy it. But that was all I had. Cinnamon was exhausted. I put a pillow underneath her, covered her with a blanket, and let her sleep it off.

An hour later she came downstairs to join the family. It seemed as if the vet was right. I started to feel that maybe I should have given her the chicken meal and not the gruel. Maybe she choked on the gruel. So, I gave her some chicken, and she ate it. And she didn’t seem to have a reaction at all. Her eyes were a bit disoriented. But then again, she did go through a tremendous ordeal. Within a half hour she threw up again, and again, and again. From this moment on her ritual was as follows: Rest for half hour, drink, and throw up. She was so weak, that she was unable to go up the stairs. She stayed in our hallway. I stayed downstairs with her. I slept on the couch, placed her near me, put a pillow underneath her head, a soft blanket underneath her body, and a warm blanket over her body. I knew that this would be our last night together. I said my goodbyes, and whenever she threw up, I cleaned her up and her area, gave her some sugared water for strength, and hoped that she could get some rest. She slept 2 hours, then 1 hour, then 2 hours, and then 1 hour. I staid home with her. My boss was nice enough to allow me to work from home.

These are pictures of Cinnamon's last night on Earth

At about 8 a.m. Cinnamon looked as if she was ready to fight for her life again. I gave her her medications; she walked over to the kitchen, collapsed, and had a diarrhea. (Poor baby, probably wanted to go out, but was too exhausted to make it.) I cleaned her up. Propped her head with a pillow, put a soft blanket underneath her, and called the vet. They came with the stretcher and took her to the hospital. They said that she may have been too dehydrated, and they would give her IV fluids. That afternoon, we found out that she had two more grand mal seizures. (Her first two seizures at home were grand mal seizures.) The vet called a neurologist vet, who surmised that the symptoms that Cinnamon was having (along with the megaesophagus) were that of a tumor growth located both in the brain and the brain stem. We could treat her with prednisone and phenobarbital, but the prognosis was not good at all good. It was time to send her to a better place. So that night, at the vet, we had our final good-byes. She gave us great 14 years. May everyone’s dog give as much love and, for as long or even longer, as this one has for us.

THE GOOD OLD DAYS

Mom's Birthday

Sat, 13 May 2006 18:36:50 GMT

Today's mom's birthday. She is preparing to take that pesky Zack to his training class. He is to graduate from Basic Training. The fool cheated, he really should be in advanced, but because he has socialization issues, both the trainer and mom felt that he'd be better off in basic. Mom said he was a star pupil. Yeah, Duh, if you cheat, you do become the best. Humph.

Mom is also sad. She found a movie that she made of that annoying puppy we have, the one we named Caraway Annata, aka Carrie Ann. Smack at the beginning of the movie there was Cinnamon. Mom misses Cinnamon a lot. I do, too. She used to police me around, but she was gentle. You can view the movie at this site:

http://www.bhrescue.com/Basil/CLIP0003.AVI

Carrie is trying to bite Zack, and Cinnamon is just watching.

I'll post Zack's graduation pictures later.

My ears are itching

Sat, 13 May 2006 02:50:23 GMT

Today I am annoying everyone in the family. I just shake my head all day long: My ears are itching. I wish I could take a knife and cut out the itchiness.

Mom is taking me to the vet tomorrow. I am not looking forward to it. Mom seems to think that I may have food allergies and she is thinking of putting me on the BARF diet. I am REALLY looking forward to that.

Mom knows nothing about the BARF diet, I wonder if anyone can help her out?

Sad News!!!!

Mon, 17 Apr 2006 21:46:37 GMT

My mom recently found out that one of Carrie's trainer's dog died. She had two dogs with her that night. Thorn (the bedlington terrier)is fine, but Bear (the giant schnauzer puppy) died a few days after he was returned from the Animal shelter. It was so sad.

Here are some pictures to get you acquainted with Giant Schnauzers and Bedlington Terriers:

Caraway Annata is 1 today.

Sat, 15 Apr 2006 05:37:54 GMT

My pesty youngest 4-legged sibling is turning ONE today. She was born on April 15, 2005. Do you think that she became less of a pain?

No way!!!

She is a pain to end all pain. Yesterday, after we were fed and given our daily pig ear, mom, dad, and grandma went out. Carrie decided to go over mom's dresser and completely take it apart. Mom came home to a wreck.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CARRIE ANN. Despite the fact that you are annoying, I still love you.

This picture was taken when Carrie was 2 months old during a barbecue that mom had over our backyard. But mom helped me upload it here because we thought it shows Carrie celebrating.

Mom promised to take pictures during the day of all us. Yipeeee....

Mom is a sucker for bassets

Thu, 13 Apr 2006 22:00:56 GMT

Mom found a picture on the Internet of all these bassets and she made a user picture of it. Honestly, she has got to stop going gahgah over other bassets, she should love just me.

Carrie Ann is a pest!

Wed, 12 Apr 2006 19:46:31 GMT

Introducing my new sister. Here's a picture of our newest 4-legged sibling:

She was 8 weeks old when this picture was taken. In fact, that's our mom holding her a few minutes after she got that pest from the breeder.

Here's her picture when she 4 weeks old:

She is the one sleeping on top of her sibling. Even then, she was annoying.

Here she is when she graduated from her puppy class:

Here she is when she outgrew her bed:

Now, want to know why I call her a pest? Because she is annoying. All she wants to do is play. Mom calls her the Paris Hilton of basset hounds.

Here she is at 9 months of age:

And now she is in trouble because she ate grandma's hearing aid. Hehehehehehe

Introducing myself

Mon, 10 Apr 2006 03:28:28 GMT

Hi, I'd like to introduce myself. I know that I have been on LJ for a while. But, hey, I am a basset hound, and I didn't know how to do this. I am not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. However, I am a great lover.... My name is Basil Houndini. I am a basset hound. I am an unusual basset hound because I observe my family and report about it. My greatest achievement was on June 2, 2002. I was a ringbearer to my human sister's wedding. It was an awsome event, and I looked absolutely majestic. I am so proud of myself that I am using that picture as my user picture. I am also showing that picture here for your to admire my regal self.

Aren't I the BEST that you have seen?

I live with my slaves (mom, dad, and grandma), my four-legged siblings Cocoa, Caraway, and Zack Curry and two cats, Brie and Cammembert (Cammie). I'll posting more about our family later. My female slave wants the computer.

So long folks.