The Ungrateful Bastards
By:
Steve

You know this isn't a regular moto site because I have pictures of my dogs on it (none of my wife and I really hope she doesn't read this) and little bios of them. Like they are some kind of stars or something. Anyways, I love dogs and my wife does also so when we moved into a house for the first time a few years back, it didn't take long before we were looking for a little buddy.

And we actually got a Buddy. We wanted to rescue a dog because...well because there are so many dogs out there that need homes. We were looking on the web and immediatley upon seeing a Beagle/Basset mix named Buddy, my wife was insistent that we get him. So we go down to the local Petco for adoption day and we see Buddy, only he doesn't seem to care too much about us. As a matter of fact he pays ZERO attention to us and seems to only want to eat some of the birds nearby (come to find out, he HATES birds and wished they would all die. He chases them all the time and has as much chance as getting one as I do beating Usain Bolt in the 100 meter) but my wife was undeterred. She knew that Buddy needed a home and that was enough for her.

We bring him home but not before I almost squash the whole thing when the adoption lady is grilling me like I'm having the president over for dinner. Household income, yard size, how much we're home, where the dog will sleep, etc etc. I felt like saying "Listen blue hair, this dog has no home and lives in a cage the size of an end table. Unless I say that I'm going to take it home and stick it in a microwave and eat it, I'm pretty much qualified to adopt this dog."

Upon having him for a few days and surviving the follow-up visit (whew!) we begin to notice something-Buddy doesn't care THAT WE SAVED HIS LIFE. He doesn't show much affection, leaves the room when we enter, and basically isn't fetching the paper anytime soon. He lives for squeeky toys and eating. That's about it. So my wife has an idea that he needs a friend, someone to romp around with in the backyard and they can cozy up to each other while she sews me a sweater and I smoke a pipe and read the paper by the fire. At least that's how I pictured it.

Long story short, we start working with the Las Vegas Basset rescue people and soon find out that we make lousy foster parents. See the idea is you foster a dog until someone wants to take it away forever. Then I turn into that lady from Petco, grilling the people and asking them household income questions. None of the people are good enough and we just end up keeping the dogs. We're at four and have vowed to stop. Our house is a disaster and when you come over and sit down on our couch, you get up looking like Chewbacca due to the shedding. I think we're doing a good thing, that's what people tell me anyways.

Here he is. The one that started it all. Buddy. Or Budders. Or Budderick Von Buddersen as Rob Buydos calls him. He weighed 80lbs when the shelter got him but with a strict training program, we got him down to 54. he doesn't show much affection but does follow me everywhere I go so I guess he likes me. He also likes the Leafs and hopes the cup drought ends soon.

Update- June 4th 2011, we put Budders to sleep because of the big C. More on that right HERE.

 So then my wife thought that Budders needed a friend so when we're gone they can romp around and generally have a great time being friends forever. The Las Vegas Basset rescue only had a pair of dogs that needed a foster home, they were Fred and Hank. Not brothers but been together forever and had to stay together. So we agreed to foster them for a while. They came into our home and lo and behold, Buddy wanted nothing to do with them. He actually hated them and fought Hank for the title of "King Dog of the Matthes House" a few times (the fights were a draw-Hank put a hole in Buddy's ear but Buddy has the weight advantage and knocks Hank down) but once things settled down life was good for these three.

Here's Hank and Fred on the sofa chilling. They like to climb on the back of the pillows and leave hair and slobber all over. Hank is the dominant one of the two. He'll just walk over to Fred and have his way with him or lick his eyeball whenever he wants. Poor Fred, I feel like he needs counciling.


 

Hank is one of those dogs that thinks he's a little person. Has to be on your lap, has to be in the bed-you know the type. He's not a true Basset because he doesn't have the white tipped tail and big feet and these are the things I tell him when I'm mad at him.


 

This is Fred, not to get too gross but a while ago we noticed he had very runny, uhhhh, stuff. So we took him to the vet and nothing he gave him worked so he then perscribed a anti-depressant. Yep, Fred is depressed at his 2 meals a day, sleeping in the bed, 2 walks a day, belly rubs and multiple treats a day lifestyle. Maybe he'd like to be back in a cage?

So of course, we get all attached to Hank and Fred and end up adopting them. Fred is a meek dog who is the battered spouse of Hank. Hank likes to just go over and hover over Fred when he's eating. This stresses Fred out and he wanders off, allowing Hank to gobble down another bowl of Purina. I could go on and on about these two goofballs. The only place Fred stands up for himself is when he's in bed with us and Hank wanders in looking to get in on the comfy action. Fred then turns into Cujo and scares Hank off into the closet, where he stays all night or until Fred falls asleep. When the coast is clear, he bolts for the bed like he's Carl Lewis in 1984 and jumps on me. Usually when I'm alseep. And usually a paw ends up in the groin area. Good times...

This is Prince. When we got him he had a softball size tumor off the side of him to go with all the small ones all over and the open sore on his neck that wouldn't heal. In short, he was gross. The family that dropped him off should be tied to that same mattress box spring that Rambo was. Anyways, a few surgeries later he's all good. Updated---We had to put the little guy down..RIP Princy.

So then the rescue called us to put Prince in our house for a little while and we accepted. He's stillup for adoption but I don't think that's going to happen either. He's been through the worst things (his sister that was brought in with him has died due to many problems) and yet is the most happy, loving dog ever. He's never done anything to anyone and never causes problems, the other three bastards could learn from him. He also has a huge weiner. That could be why the other guys don't like him and growl at him, 'cause they have little nubs. Can I say that stuff in a website?

Comments

A little humour.

I had a good little laugh over this one! Only pet "owners?' would understand!

WHAT PETS WRITE IN THEIR DIARIES.....

Excerpts from a Dog's Diary..........
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8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Milk Bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite
thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
Excerpts from a Cat 's Daily Diary...
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Day 983 of my captivity...

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little
dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat,
while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort
of dry nuggets.

Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly
clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep
up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the
carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body
at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into
their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am
capable of. However, they merely made condescending
comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am.
Bastards.

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices
tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the
duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises
and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was
due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this
means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to
assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his
feet as he was walking. I must tr y this again tomorrow
-- but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies
and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is
regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to
return. He is obviously retarded.

Thor the "moto dog"

Hey Steve, I really like your article about your dogs. I surely can relate to the love of the Bassett Hounds. We lost our pal Thor last month, to stomach problems, but I'll tell you he was a great shop mascot.He'd greet our customers, with a slobbery smile,and howl a great tune at the sound of a bike's horn.We miss 'em. Ray Bergeron, Gorham NH

Sorry to hear that..

We lost Prince a month ago or so, search the features for something that I wrote about the little guy. Thor is a cool name!
Steve