Guess Who's Back...

It is true. Another year, another adventure is upon me.

To say I took a sabbatical would be an understatement. While resting from the computer, I have been very busy studying the art of human behavior. It is intriguing.

My little hoomans are bigger now. They have developed a sense of purpose and seem to be thriving at the ways of soccer, education, and the serious addiction known as Minecraft. I observe from my recliner and find it odd that they stare blankly forward, punching these little blocks around the screen.

I am bored.

To give you a very brief update, the hoomans, especially the lead female, has been very busy tending to  "others", being my assistant Phoebe and her annoying little pet, Bruiser aka The Chupacabra. As the years have progressed, these two geriatric roommates had become very needy.

I liked to use the Chupacabra as a pillow.

I must admit, it has smelled like prune juice and anger for the past two years.

Sadly, both crossed the Rainbow Bridge these past few months.

First it was The Chupacabra. He appeared to have lost his eyesight, followed by a hip dislocation. The pain was unbearable to both him and my hooman. I told him goodbye and the hooman left the house crying with him, then came back without him.

The day before he left us. The hooman carried him around in blanket and loved on him constantly.

Then the poodle, my former assistant (she had retired), became both blind and deaf. I had to help her get around the house but that too was unbearable to watch. The hooman carried her, held her often in her lap, and finally three weeks ago, the hooman again could no longer bear the pain and weakness that the poodle was experiencing. It was heart breaking, but she too crossed the Rainbow Bridge. She left in a blanket and returned home, two week later, in a small urn.

Time to rest, little one.

Saying goodbye to Phoebe, my assistant. 

The hoomans, especially the lead male, cried for days.

So, as you can tell, it has been a hard last year.



But I'm hear to tell you something...things are getting a little wild, a little younger, a little more joyous in their lives...

and of course, I have everything to do with it.

Signing off for now with more information as it unfolds,

Abbie the Basket Hound

Happy New Year, or whatever!

It's like this...

My hooman will do anything to embarrass me.

For example: The Annual Christmas Parade

This year was no exception. She rode with the Alabaster Community Garden float and could not resist the urge to dress us both in matching outfits. I was so horrified, I got in the wheel barrow and slept through most of the parade.

This is a picture of me starring at her, begging to just be put off at the next stop so I can walk home in shame...in my overalls.

Then Christmas Eve, she insisted we all wear our pajamas and cuddle around the fireplace.

Can you tell I am really excited about the possibility of a fat man in a red suit coming into my home and seeing me like this?

She tells me 2013 is going to be the year I shine! I get excited thinking of the possibility of being famous. She means I am going to shine in that I am getting a bath every week.

This cannot be normal, even for a hooman.

Damn little hornets really do sting, old dogs, and life's other annoyances

 Here is an update since the last time I blogged. It's been a while.

Two Saturdays ago, Beady Eyes went outside to do her usual "thing."  When she walked back in, she was walking weird and in pain. The hoomans immediately went to her aid only to find she was covered with yellow jackets. They immediately put her in the bathtub, started killing them and the Old Wise Man grabbed the Children's Benedryl and a straw and started pushing it down her throat. She passed out and went into shock.  They made a beeline (no pun intended, well, yea, actually that was intended) to the Veterinarian's Office.  After a steroid shot, antibiotics, Prednisone, antihistamine regimen and lots of TLC, I am happy to report she is back to her annoying little beady eyed self.

Beady Eyes with her Hippie Look

Chupacabra continues to annoy me despite my best efforts to ignore him. He acts like a Latino lover, walking around, all macho-like, with his bow-legs and revolting bad breath. What can I say? Hooman made a promise to her dying mother to care for him. Here is the latest picture of him.

He thinks he is sexy.

Bella the lab is rarely photographed or talked about but she is still around. She is old. I mean really, really old. In fact, I walked up on her having a conversation with some dirt. She apparently knew the great-great-great grandfather of said pile of dirt. She is like an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, smothered with the vile smell of prunes and a kiss my ass attitude. I'm not a Phdog or anything in aging seniors but I am fairly sure that is normal attitude for a dog who is the equivalent to 115 years old.  This is her latest picture.

Bella is older than the Dirt Pile's Grandparents

And there have been a few incidences where I have come across her and the old Chupacabra in the yard, thinking they were dead, only to poke them with my nose to see they were still alive (much to my hooman's delight and my dismay).

Example #1

Example #2

The realities of my life and the fact that I, a gorgeous, girthy, goddess doggess, among these mere morons mortals makes me realize that I am lucky to be the youngest. But that does not exclude me from the nightly pill call.

Yes, even the Basket Hound, is now on a medicinal regimen. 

It appears I have had the Hank Hill Syndrome (aka a narrow urethra) that causes me problems on occasion. I am on six months of antibiotics and anti-flamatories. I, too, get to delight in the tasty peanut butter goodness at approximately 9pm every night. 

We hear the hooman head to the kitchen and yell, "Pill Call" and I start salivating in delight and it is a knock down, jump over of canine excitement to get to her first. 

I think it keeps the old dogs young, personally.

So that is an update of my life. 

Sometimes it gets crazy and all I want to do is wrap myself up like a burrito and hide.

Abbie the Burrito Hound

Then El Chupy gets that old sniffer working and before long, I cannot hide because I have the demon eyes of the little white one staring at me...lovingly, hungrily. 

YIKES!!!!

It is my life and I would not take it for another one. After all, I am the boss.

Dogpocolypse has ended. You may now return to the scheduled postings.

Well, hey. How are you doing? I am fine. I am more than fine. I am RESTED.

It all started when I received a handy dogpocolyspe kit for Christmas. I LOVED it! I loved it so much that I filled the WaterBob, hunkered down in the heating blanket, and waited for the BIG ONE.

Then I went to sleep.

And I slept.
And slept.
And slept.
And slept.

 And slept.

 And slept.
And slept.

And slept.
Rinse and Repeat Xs 40 Days.

Then a dove appeared with message in the bottle and said, "Yo Abbie, wake up. The possum is trying to eat your food."  So I awoke from the nightmare to find this staring at me:

Then I knew the Dogpocolypse had occurred and I was doomed to a life living with a Chupacabre.

And the rest is well...

You will have to check back to learn more.

But I will say, while I was "out" lots has happened.

I need to take a nap now.

When I return...

You will meet my new bestest friends EVER... REDDOG Sitting!

Hound Dog Preparations for Apocalypse 2011

Get ready! It's coming!

THE APOCALYPSE

Well, for the paranoid insane fatuous unhinged irrational overly prepared individuals  persons associates humans beings people in life, it's been coming for a while.

And for the equally, yet slightly disturbed folks, it might be a Zombie Apocalypse. But that is for another posting at another time. In the meanwhile, if you fit into this category, please refer to the documentary movie Zombieland for further preparation of zombie survival.

So, for those who might feel the Apocalypse coming around...here is some friendly hound advice on how to survive until you are either ready to join the rest of society in death or if you suffer some freaky anti-social anxiety that you like to deny and/or openly practice transference of irrationality upon others including family, friends, and fellow hounds.

Proper Apocalyptic Preparation

Pre-apocalyptic preparation is key to having a successful and fun tolerable comfortable time until your eminent death.  One may decide to curl up into a ball and just sleep until the time comes to kiss your hound arse good bye while others may want to fight the urge to give into what will no doubt be your demise.

If you so chose the later, I highly suggest the following items to help you semi-comfortably pass the hours or possibly days away until you go into an eternal slumber.

If drinking water is important to you, you may want to consider the WATERBOB.

Yes, you can turn your bathtub into freaky water well or instant waterbed with just the touch of a faucet and at least a few hours warning of unknown unpredicted water contamination.  Paranoid about a possible terrorist attack? This is the perfect gift to give your lesser related family members. After all, nothing says Happy Holidays like your very own 100 gallon bathtub liner equipped with a pumper that can be used to pump water or whatever else you see fit to pump throughout the house during the apocalypse.

Since I prefer the continuous flow from the toilet, I see this handy little gift being next year's Dirty Santa present.

Plus, I refuse to give up the one area of the house that I can claim as mine to stand in and howl with little protest.

Everyone knows the Deep South is known for it's wicked cold weather and many, many blizzards.  Before you freeze to death during the apocalypse, you may want to consider wrapping yourself in trash bags since they hold in your body heat.

Or, you can consider spending an extra $3.00 and purchase the incredible, bright orange HEATSHEET.

This dandy little blankie is very comfortable, especially when I try to move around. That crinkly noise is most soothing in realizing my demise is only around the corner.

The good news is, I have plenty of these as they pass them out at most marathons and runs. The bad news, most crazies psychics predict the apocalypse 2011 will come in the Summertime.

Beady Eyes refuses to cuddle in this and only wants to use her Snuggie...

Which makes more sense and appears a lot more comfortable than a cheap ass gift sheet of plastic.

Food supply should be your number one priority during the apocalypse.  Since it will not matter if you eat high fat, high calorie, and carbo loaded vittles, (you are going to die anyway, why not enjoy your last hours), I strongly suggest you eat whatever your heart desires.

My personal picks include...

However, you may also want to stock up on ...

and more...

The fact of the matter is, *IF* the apocalypse occurs this year, do you really want to survive it? Survivalism is over-rated if you are one of the few survivors. What amazes me is the number of paranoid schizophrenics people who have nothing else better to do than think about disasters and pending doom and gloom, all because their personal mental illnesses cause them to get very lonely while in solitary confinement.

Do yourself a favor...get a life before the apocalypse takes it from you.

The best days are those in which we can live a little, howl a lot, and take in as many belly rubs as possible.
Or as the writer C.S. Lewis would say...

"If we are going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things -- praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts -- not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They might break our bodies (a microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds."

Find a Home and a Hound for the Howlidays!

A dog is NOT the perfect gift under the tree. Us hounds require love, attention, care, and concern. The best possible furever home for us also needs to be one where we get medical care, preventive health care, and spade and/or neutering.

But for all this, we give something that most Christmas presents cannot give and that is devotion and unconditional love.

This year I have teamed up with someone else who helps others find homes...RealtySouth Shelby Listings.








Once you pick out the perfect home for you with the help from RealtySouth Shelby Listings, check out the following links for a perfect "fur"ever home for one of my buddies at:

Shelby Humane Society

Greater Birmingham Humane Society

Save Our Strays

If you love me, you will love some fellow "Basket" hounds at:

Basset Hound Rescue of Alabama

Always a good story at their own blog at the

Basset Hound Rescue of Alabama Blog

Various County and City Listings

Merry Christmas from The Basket Hound

and my Gorgeous Best Hound Furever

Bama Dawg

Check us out at the Helena Christmas Parade on Dec. 3rd, 1:30pm

Towel Pile Tuesday!!

The Laundry Bog Blog

(Where Laundry Makes Babies)

I was going to blog about this incredible package of Cesar Canine Cuisine but I gotted in trouble.  It arrived and my hooman placed it in her office area.  She then proceeded to go outside with the little hoomans. I came across it while I was exploring and my smeller picked up on the luscious scent of liver, beef, and bacon.  I attacked the box and when my hooman walked in, I had managed to scored an enitre bag of treats and was working on a Cesar Canine Dish.  So, not only did hooman say I was in trouble but she said it was meant for Beady Eyes to try, not me. 

Which brings me to the next topic...

The Laundry Bog aka The Laundry Monster aka My playground and instant napping station.  This week, hooman has been super busy with all these little projects. Which means she has taken very little time with me. On top of that, Beady Eyes is hanging out with her like the troll who lives under the bridge. I walk into the room and Beady Eyes appears out of nowhere, glaring at me. Since she filed that harassment report on me, she thinks she owns me! Not so true...see above paragraph for more info.

So, the laundry monster has grown. And when the laundry monster grows, I become fascinated with the various colors, textures, and yes, even smells (don't judge me). Which leads to the next issue. Do any of you other hounds enjoy the playground known as the laundry monster?  

I happen to know for a fact that my buddy, Trixie, enjoys the occasional nabbing of briefs here and there. How do I know?  Because my hooman found a pair of her little hooman's Nascar undies in my yard one time.

My hooman was a bit taken back by the find.

But I'm personally glad to see her behind in the laundry because it gives me a place to nap. I'm not complaining, have you been outside lately? It's cold for Dixieland.