Once we lived next door to a dumb young guy who bought a basset hound puppy for his girlfriend. They called it Melvyn, then they broke up. He kept the puppy, because "it was *&%^£@! expensive". Dumb young guy was seldom home, and he left this poor pup outside in a 2x3 meter yard, all alone, surrounded by poop. Melvyn was a howler, poor chap.
Because of Melvyn, I think "basset hound' and a formerly submerged vein in my temple begins to throb as the memories of his mournful howling return. These pics, selected from posts on http://www.bestweekever.tv/ and http://cuteoverload.com/, are how Melvyn's life should have been. How all dogs lives should be, dammit.
It is a miracle that these dogs CAN run, so loose is the connection of their skin to their skeletons. They look pretty surprised about it too. You're doing it, Peter, you're DOING it!
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