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<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2>My daughter and I took the dogs for a walk. We were
going down the High Street to get to the seafront, when we were approached and
talked at by a drunk tramp. I always find this hard. I believe he is harmless
(he is a local fixture), but he is slightly booze-aggresive. Anyway, as he
sleeps on the seafront, we decided to change direction to get away from him and
headed round the back of the shopping centre.</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2>As we started to cross the duel carriageway, lo and
behold, guess who started to cross from the other side? Another basset!! (and
his slave, of course). I sort-of let out a squeak and was told firmly "Behave
yourself mum. Not everyone feels like you do". So we get to the central
reservation at the same time as the other basset. I said something like "Good
evening, nice to see...." and was cut across by "Oh my God. More bassets. Oh I
love bassets. I've had them for 30 years".</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2>So there we stood, in the Central reservation for
the next 10 minutes talking basset, with cars flying either side of us, other
pedestrians stepping round us and me and this man talking like a couple of new
mums comparing our offspring.</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2>Of course, I have no idea what the man was called,
but his 1-year-old, mainly red and white, but tricolour basset was Watson.
</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2>It is so rare to meet another basset in this
country. What a treat!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>Sally, with Rolph and Clara, UK</DIV></FONT></DIV></BODY></HTML>