There was the time we all worked in the yard and Dad and I built a fire pit.

Good times.
Does a fire pit have to be finished and in working order to be called a fire pit?  Because we dug a pretty good sized hole and then put some funky looking bricks around it before we had to stop because of a mound of fire ants.
Mom and the girl started hollering so Dad and I stepped in to save the ladies.  Basically, we just lit part of the backyard on fire, even though it made Mom really nervous.
Dad says moms are like that, and that he knows what he's doing despite what Mom says.
I know what I'm doing too.
Basically, I just stick with Dad, that's what I do.

Once the fire pit was built, the Spring rains came and filled the pit for a solid month.
Dad said not to worry about it because that fire pit was designed in such a way to serve two purposes.
 In the cooler weather when Mom was wishing for a fire pit to warm her toes by, we would have one ready to go.  But, in the rainy season, the fire pit would serve as a measurement for the water level under the ground.  Dad said that he knew what he was doing when he built it that way.

Dad also said that he really didn't think it was such a good idea to drink out of the fire pit, but I think he just means that Rodney shouldn't drink out of the fire pit because he's so small.  One gust of wind and Rodney could fall in, and then I would have to get up and go save him.
And since I really have a lot to do during the waking hours of the day, and because I'm the exact opposite of a St. Bernard, I would rather not have to save Rodney if it can be avoided.
He can be very needy, that Rodster fellow.
Sometimes I have to take a nap just thinking about him.

So, I'm off to nap then.
It seems like the right thing to do.

Me and my girl...

If you have missed me lately, I apologize.  If you are wondering who I am, I apologize.  Mom is kinda bad about keeping me in the public eye.  Breaks my heart really.  How busy must that woman be?  I swear, the extra things she takes on.
Yet, somehow I'm still in very sore need of a bath.  As is the Rodster.
Dude smells.

That is all I have to say on the matter because anything else would be rude, and I'm a gentleman first and foremost.


Speaking of my gentlemanly charm....We have a new lady in the camp.
Meet Cali.

Love of my life, and keeper of my heart key.  At least I think she has it.  I should probably check. Girl can be kinda batty at times.
But, darn if that isn't one of her most endearing qualities.
Next to those soulful eyes, and that smile she has.
It all sort of makes up for her obsession with squirrels, and her passion for midnight barking.

And, because I'm a gentleman, I try to go with her on her midnight rounds.
We circle the entire yard, stopping at each corner to bark incessantly.  Sometimes I just lie down next to her while she barks.  I figure that my main job is primarily to be there for moral support.  Show her that I'm interested in her and her interests.  That sort of thing.
No need for both of us to howl at the moon, or the next door cat.  We all have our passions.
Mine just lean more towards sedentary things, like naps.

But, that's my girl.  She barks the yard over every night until Mom or Dad start tapping on the window.  At which point she will run over to them and smile her biggest smile.  I think she smiles at them because she can sense that they aren't happy for some reason, and she knows her smile will cheer them up.
It doesn't always seem to work though, because Mom and Dad don't usually smile during barking hour.
That's when the kid comes out and explains to Cali that barking hour has ended and that it is time to go to bed.  At which point she runs happily over to her doghouse so she can have her collar attached to the chain.

I have to say that if you asked me to name one thing about my girl that I don't understand, it would be her love for that crazy chain.
She gets so excited every night when it is time to be hooked up to the chain, that some nights she even sits next to the chain and hollers until the kid comes out to set it up.
Personally, I think the chain has become a bit of a security blanket for her, but who am I to put my nose where it doesn't belong.
If that is what she needs to sleep peacefully, more power to her.  I'm content with lying next to her.  Or if she is in the mood for solitude, I sleep nearby under the swing.
Close enough to hear her breathing, but far enough away that she can pretend I don't exist.  In case she ever wanted to.
Not that she would ever want to pretend that.

We're bosom buddies, she and I.  Heart mates.  Best friends.  Lovers of each others souls, and all that jazz.

Just gotta check on that key....
Make sure she hasn't misplaced it, love her heart.

It's Me Again...

You've probably been wondering where I've been.

In the garage mostly.  Mom keeps the heater on for me and brings me extra blankets to burrow into.  Of course Rodney claims the best blankets.  Something about being small and having no body mass.  

I'm pretty sure that's a dig at my size.

Whatevs.  Dad says I'm just masculine and mom says that Basset's have their own sort of beauty.

Lately I've been spending a lot of time with Mom and Dad.  

Dad is working on a "sorry piece of crap".  I think that's slang for car.

And Mom comes out to the garage to keep him company.  

She bundles up like she's going on a polar expedition, plus two huge blankets, a heating pad, and a cup of hot tea.

Then she has Dad turn on the space heater and aim it at her so her feet stay warm.

At which point Rodney whines about being tiny and cold until Mom brings him onto her lap.

The whole thing is comical if you ask me; but I don't want Rodney to think he owns Mom, so I sit next to her so she can pat my head and explain to me everything she knows about why Bassets are beautiful.

All in all, it's turning out to be a not so bad winter.  

It may be cold out there, but it's warm and ridiculous in here.

Panda

By now you may be accustomed to my wit.
And certainly my charm.
I thank you.

Mom says not to get a big head, but Mom....really??
Does it look like my head is the problem?
Have you seen these feet?
Can we please talk about that pedicure you promised?

While Mom is coming up with reasons to not do a doggy-pedi, I need to share something with you that happened last week.
I would have brought it up sooner, but it was too difficult for me to blog about it.
Dogs have feelings too, despite what some people may say.

This week we lost one of our own.
My dearest friend next to Mom, Dad, and the kids.
Remember me telling you about Panda? The old soul of our crew?

He decided to take a nap the other day and after a while he just didn't get back up.
I didn't know what was wrong, and wanted him to come play, but since Mom had told me that it wasn't nice to pester old souls, I was trying my best to let him be.
In the meantime, I played with Rodney so Panda could get his "old soul" beauty rest.

But I knew something was wrong when Mom tapped on the glass and Panda didn't wake up to see her.
Right after that Dad came outside and tried to talk to Panda about waking up.
But that didn't work either.
Rodney and I stayed very quiet during this talk because we could tell that Dad was so so sad.
Then Dad explained to me that we had to find a special place for Panda to take his last "old soul" nap ever.
My heart was too sad to keep playing with my favorite new rope anyway, so I lay down close to Dad while he worked with the dirt and a shovel.
Mom came out to talk to me about Panda and I tried to perk up, because everybody loves Mom.
She bakes cookies and smiles a lot.
But my heart just wasn't in it and she said she understood and went back inside so I could be with Dad.

When Dad was finished, I helped him put all the dirt back in the right place.
Later the kid came out and asked me how I was doing.
I showed him the place where I had helped Dad with the dirt and he patted me on the head and told me I hadn't done anything wrong.
Funny how it sorta feels like I did.
Maybe if I had played with Panda instead of letting him take that last nap?

Anyway, all I could think of was how much Panda always liked my rope toy, so while the kid was standing by the dirt, I went and got my toy and laid it on top of the pile to show the kid that I was giving my toy to Panda.
I can always get a new toy.
What I really want is my old friend back.

It may be a while, but I'll blog again soon.
The name's George...
man's best friend...

The day we busted out...

Hello. We've met before.
Name's George.
Around here, I'm known as Mom's "go to" when she doesn't feel like writing a post.
I'm starting to get used to it even though it usually turns my day into a rigorous photo shoot workout to determine my best and most appealing side.
Left. It's my left side.
Look at that profile and dare to disagree.

But I'm not here to discuss my stunning good looks. Mom says that's presumptuous or some other big word.
Whatevs. We all know it's true.

I'm actually being used and abused today as a public service announcement for pet owners.
According to Mom, a locked gate is a beautiful thing when you have three dogs in your backyard.
And a locked gate with an actual working lock is even better.
Mom says stuff like that and I don't think anyone knows what she's talking about or even listens.
But it probably has something to do with the time that the other prisoners and I put together a little hostile takeover while the lawn guys were here.
Those lawn guys.
They're just like everyone else.
Pet the dog. Talk to the dog. Throw the stick. Slip out the gate while the stupid dog isn't looking.
Except for when the dog isn't as stupid as he pretends to be.
Well, maybe Rodney is.
I don't think we have his test results back yet, but look in those eyes and tell me that looks normal to you.

However, despite Rodney's issues, we managed to make our escape while the lawn guys were patting themselves on the back for having pulled one over on us.
And I'm here to tell you that nothing tastes as good as freedom.
And fewer sounds are sweeter than the frantic yelling of the lawn guys who just discovered that the dogs are the smart ones.

PS...mom wants me to tell you that we are all safely locked away in our prison again and no one is worse for the wear.

Except for perhaps the lawn guys.
Nothing like being fooled by the prisoners, eh boys?
Catch the stick indeed.
Until we meet again, my friends.
Until we meet again.

George is a dog...

Hello, my name is George.
Mom put my name in the title and made sure to tell you that I'm a dog. Just in case.
"In case what?" I said.
But Mom said I didn't need to worry about every little thing and I just needed to get to the business of writing this post because it was 4:00 already and the post wasn't going to write itself.
Apparently Mom doesn't want to do this whole blog thing on her own anymore and I guess that means I'll be a regular fixture around here.
I usually pick up the slack where others can't.
It's a dog's life.
Besides Mom said something about sharing all aspects of her life with her readers and being completely real,
and how real for her is the fact that she has three un-bathed dogs that live in her back yard and destroy her lawn furniture.

Whoa, lady. No need to get snippy.
Perhaps if someone had a bone to chew on, the furniture would last longer.
Just sayin.

At any rate.
Like I said before.
The name is George and I share my backyard with these two guys.

Panda is an old soul. At least that's what Mom says.
She also says that old souls don't like it when young souls bite their heels.
Whatevs. Old souls are too cranky if you ask me.

And this is Rodney.
Rodney thinks he's special because he can climb on furniture.

Pssshht.
Like anybody cares about that.

I once took down an entire tree all by myself.
Well, it should be said that Dad and the youngest boy helped a little but mainly they just kept coming at it with this weird buzzing piece of machinery.
After a while I took to barking ferociously at the tree until it fell over from shock.
At which point, I picked up one of the broken branches and ran back and forth across the yard to show Dad and the boy how to move the limbs.
Occasionally I still move that branch from spot to spot and anytime Dad comes out in the yard I go stand on that old tree stump so he will remember the good times we had that day.
I can tell Dad is proud of me because he says "George is a good dog" every time he sees me.
And because knocking down a tree is a way bigger deal than sitting in a chair.
But, just so it's clear, I can do that too.

Tell me that doesn't just make your soul sing.

Ok.
I'll leave you with a picture of me and the Rodster.
And next week I'll be back to tell you about the time we escaped while Mom was sleeping in till noon.
Moral of the story.
Give the dog a bone.