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HI,
My name is Scooter. My good friends call me Scoot, and everyone is my good friend, so you can call me Scoot too, or Scooty, or Scooterdoo, really about anything. I don't get upset as long as you rub my belly. Sometimes when I sort of get too carried away, my human calls me other stuff, but we do not have to talk about that.This is my home page, my Electric Digs, I call them. I don't really live here. This is a computer. Dogs don't live in computers. But I visit here a lot, and you should to. I can't have everyone come to my real house, so my human -- this guy named Curt (it's sort of a silly name, but he answers to it, so what the heck) -- my human said I could have this electric house where people could come and visit any time they wanted. Once I found out I wouldn't get shocked coming here, I thought that would be seriously kewl. So, here it is.
By the way, you may want to start one of my Slide Shows playing while you read my stories. The Slides will play in a small window which you can move around, and if you squish this Library window down some -- to about half your screen wide -- you can see the Slides while you're reading. That way you don't have to wait for the pictures to load. You can read along and when a new picture pops up, it's right there for you to enjoy.
If you'd like to give this a try, start a Slide Show and then enjoy both the pictures and my stories. (If your browser won't let you do this, don't worry, you can still see the slides by going to the Slide Show page directly, after you've read my stories.)
I'm sure you'll want to read this whole thing, but if you'd like to skip around, I've made an index for you. Ain't I just the nicest thing you ever knew?
There is a
item I just added - from my human, yawn. I've also just added a new wing on the library that will feature poetry - just one for now. Check them both out if you've been here before. If you are a first timer, browse through my whole library at your leasure.
- MY VITAL STATISTICS
- WHERE DO THOSE GORGEOUS BASSET HOUNDS COME FROM?
- MORE INTERESTING THINGS ABOUT ME
- ABOUT FLASH, MY BIG HALF BROTHER
- THINGS I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT
- SEND EMAIL FOR MORE ABOUT ME OR BASSETTS
- THAT'S ALL FOR NOW FROM ME
MY VITAL STATISTICS
Well, I'm sure you want to know all about me, 'cause I am the dude. Besides, why would you be here if you didn't? I was born April 30, 1993, so I'm ten years old. You can see from just one of my gorgeous pictures that I'm black, and brown or tan, and white; that's what they call tri-color. I have freckles in my white areas, and my black areas are what some people say is tweed, because there are brown flecks mixed all through. Just describing myself gets me all excited, I am such a cutey.I'm fourteen [14] inches tall (no short jokes or you're out of here) at the withers -- which is the highest point between my front shoulders. Thirty [30] inches long from my nose to my bottom, and my tail (which humans don't even have, I guess that's why they can't walk on all fours like they're supposed to) my tail is another twelve [12] inches long.
I used to weigh a perfect forty-five [45] pounds. I know it's perfect 'cause my vet (that's a veterinarian, like a human's doctor but one who's smarter so he can take care of dogs like they're supposed to be), my vet told my human, Curt, to keep me at 45 pounds, no more. Now that I think about it, I noticed that the goodies sort of cut back about then. I was thinking we'd better go back to my vet and make sure I'm getting enough bones and stuff while keeping me at my perfect weight. Nothing worse than a skinny -- or even worse, hungry -- Basset Hound. But it all worked out. I'm so cute my human can't resist my pleas, so I'm up a few pounds, but I still think I'm perfect!
When I first met my human, I was sort of skinny - nowhere near my perfect weight. Even the nice lady who told Curt about me needing a home thought I was. It took a few months, but once I saw everything was going to be better in my new home, I started getting pretty hungry, and well, when you eat, you know what happens. Now I'm perfect.
And another thing about all those short jokes. I know my legs are just right, for a very good reason. A long time ago, so long ago no one seems to remember just when, people wanted a scent hound -- a hound with a very sensitive nose -- that could follow small game like rabbits, and that the people could keep up with on foot. Humans are pitifully slow, you see. To make it possible for the dogs to track with their noses to the ground for a long time, the dogs also needed short legs. Otherwise their necks and backs would begin to ache. They also had to be powerful enough to plow their way through the heavy undergrowth where the game they tracked might go. And the dogs needed to be persistant in their tracking. My human sometimes says I am stubborn, but he just doesn't recognize perfected persistance when he sees it.It is thought my ancestors were possibly the St. Hubert Hound and came from France -- though we're nothing like that anymore. However it happened, amazing examples of the brightest and best -- like me -- finally did come about. It's from a line so ancient about all that's known for sure is that the first part of our name, "bas" means low-set. Not, I repeat not, short. So that's the last I want to hear about short. Okay?
I also have these two totally awesome ears all the other dogs could just die for. The humans are so envious of them I can't go anywhere without people petting and fondling my ears. It's almost embarrassing, really. But don't stop. They're pretty good for sleeping during the day too; just flop one over your eyes and presto, instant night. What they're really for though, and you can say you got this straight from the Basset's mouth, is for when I'm on the trail of something. My ears dragging on the ground stur up the scent I'm following so I can smell it easier. And that's part of what makes Basset Hounds the second best scent hound on earth. Second only to Blood Hounds -- who are way to tall if you ask me, I mean, they could tip over and really hurt themselves.I'm pretty much a home doggy now'a'days, I don't chase the cute girl dogs so much any more. It's mostly because of something my vet did, and I sure don't want to talk about that! Now you know probably more than you should, but since I'm a star I expect people to pry into my private life.
I almost forgot. You might have figured out already, I'm adopted. When I was a pup I lived several places and didn't like them too much. Some people at the vet took me in when no one else wanted me. I was pretty sad then, and I guess afraid too. Then this guy Curt came along and said I could come live with him. He had another Basset Hound live with him for a long time -- over 12 years -- so he was pretty well trained when I moved in. He tells other people I was house broke when I left the vet. I'm not sure what that means, but I don't think it's a big deal. Him though, I still haven't been able to teach him how to pee on a tree. I think he's a little backward, but he tries. He's a pretty good cook, but he still gets confused about which is the human food and which is the dog food. I sit right next to the table trying to get it across to him, but, like I said, he's just a little slow. When I first moved in my house, with my human -- who also sleeps inside -- I guess I was a little nervous and scared. After all the times I had to move before and some of the things that weren't so nice, I wasn't taking any chances. But it looks like I'm gonna keep this guy, unless he runs out of food or something like that.
After loosing my first Basset Hound, Flash, I wasn't sure about getting a new best buddy. From time to time I'd see one of the employees of the veterinary clinic that had tended to Flash's needs for the ten years we'd lived in Florida. One day at a restaurant she and her friends frequented, and which my friends and I also visited regularly, she rather tentatively approached me and began a conversation. After a bit of small talk she brought up the thing that was really on her mind - a small abandoned Basset Hound named Jake, who was temporarily staying with another of the clinic employees. The invitation to "just come by and see him", was of course a trap.A few days later Jake - now renamed Scooter - was getting used to his new home, with me. He was a sweet little guy but very shy, skittish, and with no appetite; which explained his somewhat underweight condition. It was understandable, considering the little dude's past history.
Most recently he had been staying with a young lady who had a small apartment at the veterinary clinic and worked as the night employee, overseeing the boarded animals. She loved Jake, but just didn't have room for him. She had taken him in when his previous owner, a lady with other dogs, had given him to the clinic because the other dogs kept picking on him. That lady had originally gotten Jake from his first owner who couldn't keep him for some reason which was unknown at that time. It had been a long and unsettled first two years for Jake.
The coincidence that makes this story so interesting is how I discovered more of Jake's history. As all my friends had long before learned, I'd talk about my Basset (Flash and then Scooter) at any opportunity. While visiting the very same restaurant where I was first told about the Basset that needed a home, I began talking about my new dog with one of the waiters. He was surprisingly interested in what most people politely suffered through for a couple minutes - as I recounted the endless wonders of my dog - before excusing themselves for any reason they could come up with. When I mentioned my new dog was a Basset, the waiter said he'd had a Basset once too, but had to give him up when his job situation turned bad. He told how he'd gotten his Basset in Michigan, which I found interesting since I had gotten my first Basset, Flash, when I had lived in Michigan before moving to Florida. But when he said he'd given his dog up to a lady with other Bassets, and then said his name had been Jake, I realized the amazing coincidence of what had happened. By shear chance I had happened upon the original owner of my Scooter - then his Jake. I now knew Scooter had been born in Michigan, that a coincidence in its own right. I was most excited to have verified that Scooter (Jake) was indeed a pure bred Basset; something the people at the clinic had told me but with no certain proof. The waiter still had the original papers, though they had not been registered because of the cost involved. We made arrangements to meet again for me to retrieve Scooter's documents and for the waiter to see his once pet.
The next part of this strange story is less pleasant. Before the waiter and I could get together for his reunion with Scooter, the restaurant closed suddenly. I was never able to find the waiter after that, and the papers were never obtained. It was a disappointment for me, but had no affect on how much I love the wonderful Basset Hound who had found his way to me by such a difficult but intriguing route.
I've heard my human talk about his other Basset Hound. He's gone now so I never met him. His name was Flash, which I think is almost as kewl as Scooter. My human has pictures of Flash. As soon as I can get him off his dead ... well, anyway, I'll have him put pictures of Flash in Scooter's Electric Art Museum too.Flash was born in Michigan, just like me! He had papers and everything, even a fancy name: God Thor's Mjollnir. In Norse mythology Thor was the god of thunder and Mjollnir was the name of Thor's hammer, which produced the Flash of lightning and thunder. Pretty neat huh? I'm supposed to have papers too, but my first owner never sent them in and now I don't know where they are. Guess they didn't care enough to bother. Boy am I glad I'm here now.
Flash moved to Florida with my human when he was 2. This was pretty nice except for a couple things. He liked running through the snow, even when it was so deep his belly left a track. Not much snow -- like, none -- in south Florida. And he really, really, didn't like thunder, a whole lot! Which is sort of funny since Thor's hammer also produced that thunder.
He was a big dude, almost twice as big as me. I bet that was something to see, Flash sitting on Curt's lap. I do that a lot, mostly so I know if he tries to sneak out into the kitchen. He says I'm the worlds biggest lap dog, but I say there's a lot of lap I gotta cover. I'm just doin' my best.
I've heard a lot of other stories about all those years Flash lived with my human. Some day, if you're interested, and when I'm not late for my nap, I'll poke some of those into this keyboard thingy. My nose is getting sort of sore right now.
Oh yeah, I know I'm a dog. I hear people say, "My dog thinks he's a person." Come on, give me a break! Do you think we could be anywhere near so cute if we were people. No way, not even close. Sure dogs sometimes have to humor humans, do things like they do -- no matter how totally stupid it is -- otherwise humans start forgetting how their supposed to treat us. I've heard of some humans who make their dogs sleep outdoors. Now really! What do you think houses are for? People? Of course not, that's what caves are for. That's where people started out living, right? They didn't start building houses until they found out they could get dogs to look out for them, if they had a nice house for the dog to live in. Everyone knows that.My human says I have a hound dog howl. I guess what he means is I don't sound like those dogs that can't sing. I've heard some dogs who couldn't carry a tune in a pooper scooper; all they do is yip. I, on the other paw, have an excellent singing voice with which I often serenade my human. He likes it so much he sometimes makes me stop, 'cause you can only take so much of a good thing, right? Actually I only sing when I'm excited -- like going for a walk or getting goodies or meeting one of my many friends. I find humming, what my human calls squeaking, works wonderfully when I have an urgent need for attracting my human's attention.
While I am the shy, quiet type, I do sometimes also sing to our postal carrier. She's a nice lady who doesn't skip my house when I'm out sunning in the yard, like she used to. I kept hollering for her to come and pet me, but she'd scurry right on by. Then my human talked to her and she's been much nicer since. I think she couldn't tell when I was being my lovable self and when I was in my attack dog mode. I am a pretty ferocious beasty when I want to be; at least I sound pretty ferocious. But what can a dog do, I was wagging my tail, wasn't I? Sometimes I wonder if humans know anything. Now, whenever she comes by and I hear her, or see her or the truck she drives, if I'm not outside I holler at my human to let me out, but he's so slow she's almost always gone before I can get out the door. But when I'm outside she comes right up and pats me on the head. So see, you can train them, if you just keep working at it.
That's another thing. Why can't humans figure out how to build a door that doesn't get stuck shut all the time? And my human always puts this collar and leash thing on me. I don't have any idea why he keeps that thing around, all it does is just lay there. If the stupid thing needs to go out, why doesn't he teach it how to do it itself? Or why doesn't he take the thing for its walks instead of me always having to? I tell you, if my human didn't need me so much, sometimes I think I'd just pack up my dog biscuits and hit the road. Let's face it, there's more than one tree on the block.
But I guess it isn't so bad when I think about how it used to be. I finally taught my human I should sleep in the big easy chair; which is very cozy. He didn't want me to at first, but after a few thousand times, he finally agreed with me. Sometimes he begs me to let him sit there too. And 'cause I'm such a good dog, I even let him. But most of the time I take the whole thing and he sits at his computer doohicky and pokes at it. It never moves, you'd think he'd give up after all this time. I mean, it's obvious the thing is too lazy to move. And he calls me lazy. Oh well, it keeps him out of trouble. Plus it lights up with pretty pictures and has something to do with my Electric Digs.
Usually I'm pretty busy; holding down my easy chair and checking my dinner bowl for etabilities. But when I do have a spare few minutes, I like to let my creative side blossom. The result of my latest efforts is a poem about one of my exciting exploits. You can read it in my Poetry Corner. I call it: "A Basset's Quarry Query". *It's a slow process -- being creative -- but if I come up with another gem, I'll put it in there too.
* Just for the record: I let my human put his name on my poem for legal reasons; don't want someone stealing my hard work and he says dogs can't copyright things. Can you believe that? Sounds like blatant speciesism to me. But trust me, I wrote the whole thing, I really did.
I have told you a lot already, but if you have any questions about me or my Basset buddies, just bark.
Email to SCOOTER
Sometimes I'm pretty busy, digging and snoozing y'know, and other important doggy stuff, so it may take a few days, but I'll try my best to bark back.
Thanks a lot for coming by to see me. I guess I'll take a nap now. You know how it is with all the work I do; I get pretty sleepy. The next time my human isn't in the way, I'll poke at these clicky things somemore and tell you a few more nifty doggy stories.
Scooter
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