[Dailydrool] Elsinore and Charlie talk to me

[Elizabeth Lindsey]

Just before dumping Ken on the side of the road, I took our Elsinore  
and young Charlie to the picnic part of the GABR waddle (Ken stayed  
home to work on his backpack). Our Elsinore dislikes parades and  
absolutely loathes marching bands. The one time we subjected her to  
the GABR parade, there were three marching bands and she just about  
came unglued. I continue to find it surprising that the hound who  
presents herself as being so self-possessed and confident in social  
situations is the hound who becomes panicked and hysterical the  
minute the tubas round the corner. In these situations I'm not sure  
she's really my dog, because there are few things I enjoy more than a  
marching band, especially one with pumped-up brass and percussion  
sections. Elsinore is so miserable in a parade, though, that she  
makes it miserable for the rest of us. So now we skip parades and  
just enjoy the picnics.

I took Elsinore and Charlie to the OBR picnic while Ken was off  
fending for himself in the woods. I've been wanting to go to that one  
for some time now, and this seemed like a good time to do it. Each of  
the basset rescue picnics we've gone to have been great fun in a  
different way. This first time at the OBR picnic I discovered that  
its fun lies in its venue as well as its people. It was held in the  
biggest, coolest dog park I've ever seen. This dog park is so large  
it even has wooded trails. It's a dog park that humans enjoy almost  
as much as the dogs. I especially appreciated the park's dog wash  
area after I discovered Elsinore had joyfully gotten into muck clear  
up to her shoulders. She had just the best time exploring that dog  
park. Periodically she'd come find me and body slam me to show me how  
happy she was. Charlie found young hounds to play with, and I finally  
met in person some of the people I've known only from the Drool.

Both GABR and OBR had pet communicators at their picnics, and I can  
never pass up the chance to talk with Elsinore and Charlie like that.  
Sometimes I think the communicators are really on the mark, and other  
times I'm not so sure, but either way it's fun and gives me a good  
story. I like good stories just as much as I like marching bands.

Of course, the first thing I asked our Elsinore is if she still  
enjoys her job at the hospice she visits once a month for pet therapy  
work. She said she does. She said she likes having a purposeful life,  
and she thinks she's very good at her job there. Her work, she stated  
emphatically, is important and the people at the hospice need her.  
Okay, then why oh why did she deliberately fail her pet therapy test  
not once, but twice in May? Why!? Well, apparently she thinks the  
test is "stupid" (her word), and she doesn't see any point in doing  
something that has "nothing to do with" what she actually does at the  
hospice. No argument there. But occasionally we all must do things  
that seem stupid and irrelevant, even dogs with important work.

The pet communicator at the GABR picnic tried to coax Elsinore into  
cooperation by telling her that sometimes humans make up silly rules  
and there's nothing you can do but follow them if you want to  
continue doing something. Apparently Elsinore questioned that,  
because the pet communicator then told her that even though *we* know  
she's competent at her job, the people who employ her need to be very  
sure that she can be trusted in the workplace, and that test is the  
best they've come up with to evaluate that. I asked Elsinore if I  
could count on her passing the next test (which, I've just learned,  
will be held in early December, three weeks before our certification  
expires). The pet communicator told me Elsinore would think about it.  
Oh, great. To encourage her to think along the lines I'd like, I  
promised I'd stop for two McDonald's hamburgers on the way home from  
the test if Elsinore passed it. The pet communicator told me that was  
helping Elsinore's consideration process considerably. She said I  
should also be clear to Elsinore about when we're practicing for the  
test, and it wouldn't hurt for me to remind her of the consequences  
of not passing.

By the time we got to the OBR picnic, I'd had some time to think  
about Elsinore's responses and come up with a good reason for passing  
the test, a reason she can't dispute. The reason she must pass that  
"stupid" test every other year, I informed her through the pet  
communicator, is to prove to the people who employ her that she's  
able to follow my directions. She can ignore me all she wants the  
rest of the time, but surely for just an hour every other year she  
can acquiesce to doing what I tell her if that will allow her to keep  
her hospice job. Again I was told that she'd think about it, though  
this time she made some comment about how if it was so important to  
me then maybe she'd pass the test. Again I offered bribes in the form  
of vast quantities of fast food. Later this week I'll don that blue  
blazer, get her back in serious training in the aisles of our  
friendly neighborhood Home Depot, and hope for the best. Between  
that, talking with her through two pet communicators, and promising  
her all the fast food she can eat, I'm not sure there's much else I  
can do to get her to want to pass that test.

At the GABR picnic Charlie told me he's been ambivalent about his  
breakfast all summer because he's been feeling some discomfort in the  
mornings. He does finally eat it, though, because his desire to not  
lose his meal to Elsinore, who hovers over him after she's finished  
hers, is stronger than his queasy tummy. However, I've noticed that  
since we've finally left that awful 90-degree weather behind and are  
now enjoying more reasonable temps in the 70s, Charlie's morning  
appetite has improved a bit. I also learned that Charlie likes cheese  
(no surprise there) and would like to have it served in chunks  
sometimes instead of shredded. Hmmm. Sounds like he's caught on to  
the fact that shredded cheese can look like more than is really  
there. He likes staying at Friend Jennifer's house when we're gone  
but wishes she'd pay more attention to him (hence his acting out in  
perfectly awful ways while he's there). He also likes it at the  
doggie daycare because it's more a lively and interesting place to  
be. The pet communicator said he seems to be "a very fair dog" who's  
curious about things. Young Charlie also told her he feels as if he's  
"maturing into a really good dog." He thinks he has "the best life"  
and likes making me laugh.

The pet communicator at the OBR picnic said that Charlie's a "joyful"  
boy. When she asked me how old he is, I told her he's almost five,  
but in his heart.... and she finished the sentence for me, saying  
Charlie was telling her he feels he's really one. He may feel that  
way, but I well remember him from when he was one--he *never* napped  
during the day and I was constantly, I mean constantly, taking things  
out of his mouth all day long at that age. I'd say that in his heart  
he's really more like two. But however old he is in his heart, he's  
definitely youthful, and I think he'll always be that way, even when  
he's ancient. It's one of his best qualities. My eternal buppy. The  
pet communicator said Charlie doesn't have a mean bone in his body,  
loves Elsinore, likes making people laugh, and loves it when I call  
him my Joy Boy.

I wanted to know more about why our Elsinore came to us with a pellet  
lodged near her spine and a bb in her hip. The OBR pet communicator  
told me that what Elsinore was showing her indicated she was shot by  
young boys fooling around with guns they shouldn't have had (my own  
editorial comment there). It didn't look as if Elsinore had been  
after someone's chickens or doing anything wrong. It appears as if  
Elsinore's first family cared about her but left her to her own  
devices a lot, which meant she had a lot of freedom of movement in  
her community.

When I asked them, both hounds told the pet communicators that  
they're okay with going to spend a couple days a week with my mother,  
whose dog died back in January. Elsinore feels needed there for the  
companionship and exercise she provides my sedentary mother, who  
spends a fair chunk of the visit getting up to let Elsinore in and  
out of the back yard. Charlie would like my mother to run (play  
chase) with him, which I told him was an unreasonable expectation.  
But he does like to make her laugh, and I think she enjoys laughing  
with him. She also thinks he's a great snuggler when they take naps  
on the bed.

I'm always fascinated by what the pet communicators tell me about my  
hounds' perspectives on things. It's a good thing we don't have one  
living next door to us or I'd be broke from talking with my hounds  
all the time. For all you Waddle organizers out there, pet  
communicators are a big draw for some of us. I also want to thank you  
organizers for giving me and my hounds a really, really good time at  
your picnics. We'll be back. For sure.

Elizabeth