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Thursday, May 12, 2011
Celebrating a Life
They
called him Mr. Basset. He was 19 and a gentleman.
LOSING OLD DOGS HURTS TOO. Over at Hotair's Green Room, Jazz Shaw has a remembrance of a beloved family pet:
The dogs went for a walk each and every
morning that the weather would allow with my wife and [me], and I think
that the one sentence I said to her more often than any other was,
“Everyone loves the basset.” And they did. It seemed to be almost
impossible for anyone, male or female, old or young, to not immediately
be drawn to Mr. Basset. I still remember one walk just recently when we
were out strolling with them and two cars pulled up at the corner and
stopped, with each driver pausing to stare and to smile. That’s
probably what I will remember most about Mr. Basset. He brought a smile
to the face of everyone he met. He was a fat old hound dog, so the guys
always seemed to like him. And while he weighed nearly 80 pounds, he
was low to the ground with those big floppy ears, watery eyes and short
legs, so ladies and children did not find him threatening.
One elderly grandmother up the street from us did not even own a dog, but took to buying boxes of dog biscuits and knew when we went for walks, and would hurry out to give him a treat and pet him. I’ve long since lost count of how many people I’ve met in this town simply because they would approach to ask questions about Mr. Basset and pet him.
One elderly grandmother up the street from us did not even own a dog, but took to buying boxes of dog biscuits and knew when we went for walks, and would hurry out to give him a treat and pet him. I’ve long since lost count of how many people I’ve met in this town simply because they would approach to ask questions about Mr. Basset and pet him.
I can relate. Sighthounds draw the same kind of instant fans. It's a moving story. Thinking back to Charlotte's Web, all I can say is "Some Dog." You really do have to read the whole thing -- long and lesiurely as a basset hound taking his morning constitutional -- to appreciate the depth of feeling involved here. At the end you will shed precisely one tear, distilled finally from a dignified life that ended, not unheroically, in extreme old age. I'm not being callous. Mr. Basset wouldn't have wanted more than one tear. He was a gentleman, reserved and self-effacing to the last.
Jazz has my deepest condolences and, I'm sure, yours as well. But he's seeking immortality for Mr. Bassett on the Internet. I'm more than willing to help spread the word.
