The wonderful thing about a Basset Hound is that they pretty much look like old men by the time they’re three months old, so you don’t have to bother with that whole “slow descent into old age” thing. It’s nice not to have to mess with all those emotions watching them slowly progress from young to old!
And speaking of emotions, can we just talk for a minute about how much I love this dog? First, let’s just get this out of the way—I’ve beat around the bush about this for long enough and I’m just going to say it: He is Charlie. I know that might upset some people because of course Charlie was beyond special and there will never be another dog like him. Except there is, and his name is Uncle Festus. I mean Henry. I mean Uncle Festus. I mean Henrietta.
I proposed last week to my family that we quit with all the pretense and just start calling him Charlie. They rejected this proposal outright, which I understand, but I just don’t want us to walk around acting like a miracle hasn’t occurred and Charlie hasn’t been reincarnated right before us.
I really wish my family would get a grip on reality! Gosh!
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