With droopy, soulful eyes.
Your tail may wag, or maybe not,
But to me, you are love in disguise.
You sit as a movable puddle;
All drippy and drooling and droll,
The legs, the lips, the back, the neck -
Roll after glorious roll.
And ears, oh ears!
To speak of them as a velveteen blanket of sorts.
I drape his over my forehead,
I smooth hers against my shorts.
The chest it is a barrel,
Both powerful and round,
With knuckled knees and cockeyed feet,
And a rump that may not leave the ground.
But, in fact, you are an athlete,
A hunter to the core.
With curious nose to the grindstone,
You sniff to the pantry door.
Basset Hound, I respect you,
You know your place in line.
You cannot, you will not, you must not be rushed,
A lesson I've learned over time.
For often you are stubborn,
Basset, you sometimes drool,
If I turn my back on a sandwich,
You'll certainly shimmy my stool
And steal a meal
Without a care, with nary a second thought.
How foolish of me to have left it there?
A Labrador you are not!
A Basset has too much conviction,
To blandly follow the rules.
Life is too interesting, time is too short,
Many Hounds drop out of schools.
And though seemingly not very busy,
Unless occupied with a good nap,
Or patrolling for crumbs, a snack left behind,
Bassets work hard at sitting on laps.
O Basset Hound, I honor thee
For all the joy you bring.
And when it's time for supper,
I'll be sure to give you a ring.
