<html><head><style type="text/css"><!-- DIV {margin:0px;} --></style></head><body><div style="font-family:times new roman, new york, times, serif;font-size:12pt;color:#000000;"><DIV>This is Bo, Commander in Chief of the Pacific Basset Feet</DIV>
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<DIV>I think we need to increase enemy identification training. Miss Wendie says that squirrelistans have infiltrated the Senior Houndsabound calendar. PBF members should order a calendar to verify or disprove this intelligence. And last night, my very own brother, Lt. Harley, mistook a Rattailaban operative in our home for a puppy! Mom has seen "Mr. Brown" several times in our house and has been nagging Dad to set the have-a-heart trap and begin his Rattailaban relocation effort, but Dad is a procrastinator and always says "tomorrow". So, last night while Mom and Dad were watching television, Mr. Brown ran right across the floor and under the sofa mom was sitting on. Lt. Harley saw him and jumped up wagging his tail a mile a minute the way he does around puppies or people he positively adores, and lay down with his nose under the sofa wagging his tail in joy. "Come play with me, puppy!" When Lt. Harley finally stopped wagging his tail and looked sad,
Mom knew Mr. Brown had vacated the premises. C'mon troops. Time to rally.</DIV>
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<DIV>And on another note: Lt. Harley has managed to retain his studly attributes. Since coming to live with us, it has been recommended that Lt. Harley be neutered, as he has had an unusually large, uh, "package"--think orange size extending to his hind knees. Once Mom was stopped on the street when walking Lt. Harley and myself by some twentysomething soldiers in town with cameras. They enthusiastically inquired, "Oh, ma'am, may we take a picture of your dogs?" "Why certainly", smiled old lady mama, proud of her cute bassets. The soldiers proceeded to get down on their stomachs and shoot photos of Lt. Harley from rear, chuckling, "Wait until the guys see this". But I digress. Lt. Harley's surgery has been scheduled twice, and twice (two different occasions; two different surgeons) the vet has called in sick that day and cancelled. Lt. Harley suspects the surgeons took mental health days, not wanting to tamper with perfection. But
this week Lt. Harley's charisma wore out and the deed was done. But get a load of this--Lt. Harley post surgery, sans gonads, is expected to look exactly the same (!) The vet discovered that genetically, Lt. Harley has been endowed with "fat pads" in his purse, not unlike breast implants. The vet removed his gonads but left the fat pads. ("Im fat where?"). We mentioned the above to our friend, Lisa, and she replied, "Well, don't tell those soldiers if you meet them again. They will want to know where to get such things". So that's our story today. Semper fido, everyone. Order your Sr. Houndsabound calendars and don't forget that Auntie Chris still has PBF cards avaible. Aloha, Bo, CICPBF </DIV></div><br>
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