I still think of Carmela the Basset Hound as though she were a long lost sister, just one with stubby legs and long, silly ears.
For those of you who never read the Carmela Chronicles, she belonged to a snooty neighbor who didn’t take very good care of her, so I, Joan of Bark, slyly entered the picture becoming her best pal.
You don’t see many Bassets in my neighborhood since they’re too silly looking for the nose-in-the-air, elite set. They simply don’t go with that Mercedes or mink coat. Goldens, Labs, Poodles and Yorkies that fit in your Fendi, are the favorites here on the up-your-ass, Upper East Side.
Lo and behold, one just moved in.
A male, the size of a German sub, named Tripp. Tripp Goldstein to be exact. Yeah I know, he sounds like he owns a football team…the San Antonio Bassets…except that he’s black and beige, like a pair of Chanel spectator pumps, with a tail that swings nonstop.
And of course the breed is famous for its stubbornness, so when I saw him with his walker, trying to pull him one way when he was determined to go another, I laughed out loud.
Carm was like that, though like any woman, could be easily wooed with compliments and treats. That’s the real reason we’re referred to as easy. Give us a coupla’ Oreos, and we’ll follow you anywhere.
I tooled over to introduce myself.
The walker was nicer than most, meaning he wasn’t loitering on the corner texting, and said that the owners were away overnight.
You mean this big boy spent the night alone?
This got my wheels (the one that’s left) turning.
I’ve written a note to Tripp’s parents offering my services complete with a resume that makes me sound like the Meryl Streep of doggie-sitters.
Oh look, honey, she did Shakespeare in the Park, with Kevin Klein and Lassie.
Yes, I oohed and ahhed over Bassets as though my mother was one, hoping they didn’t think I was a nut, admitting that I was, just a harmless one.
As far as fees go, I never took a dime for walking Carmela, always a labor of love, not that her cheap Argentinian parents ever offered. When I think how cold and careless they were I break into a sudden chorus of Babalou.
She ended up being adopted by a great family in Pennsylvania, the best thing that could have happened, and well, since she’s not much of a writer, we’ve sadly lost contact, but back to the Basset at hand.
To be quite honest, I should pay Tripp to let me walk him and bring him home for a little canine canoodle.
I’ll keep ya posted, because who knows, I might very well have a new boyfriend who’s short, squat and stubborn sleeping next to me very soon.
Let’s hope he doesn’t snore.