Posted: December 3, 2010 in Basset Hounds

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Here’s an excerpt of a short story that Ginny Tata-Phillips and I did together. it appears in DUFFY TO THE RESCUE.


Kelley’s girl was nice enough and definitely easy on the eyes but the never quit perky doggy-talk was getting on my nerves. The retriever ate it up and the weird looking yippy dog with the hair was all for it.

Al, on the other hand seemed to take offense at the condescending tone and demonstrated his civil disobedience by choosing not to cooperate.

“Time to get your partner in line.”

“Ginger” said with the all warmth of a concentration camp sergeant. Al pre-growled, a sort of bass injected hum in the direction of the commandant.

“We need to get going,” Ginger said, this time without even the facade of charm. There was no mistaking who she was addressing.

Al dispensed with self-control and growled in her direction. Then he did a quick, and I must say, agile, turn. His sharp twist buckled my wrist like a black belt’s knife defense and he was running off the leash again, this time headed for the white yippy dog. You didn’t have to look real close to see what Al had on his mind.

His lipstick was out.

Before anyone could say “Fuck agility class” Al was acting it out on the cute frou-frou bitch with the pink flowery collar. He wasn’t big on foreplay and dove right in to the chagrin and horror of the woman who brought the little furry four-legger.

“Oh my God! Paris, Paris! Make him stop, make him stop!” The woman squealed.

Al’s eyes rolled back in his head while Paris seemed to grunt once or twice before it was over. It might just be me but I think the little pain in the ass dog had more of smile on her face after Al was done.

This wasn’t working out well. I thought about doing a lame Bogart and saying something about Al always having Paris but I decided against actually verbalizing it.

“We probably should be going.” I said. Al however had dropped to his side and was snoring. This player had absolutely no stamina and when I pulled on his leash he just slid across the wet grass. I slid him all the way out the gate and picked him up and gently laid him in the passenger seat of the El Dorado.




My first paying gig doing agility class and my wealthy Shiba Inu owner gets to witness her little girl get sexually assaulted. Not only that but now there’s the future promise of a litter of Shibasset Inuhounds. Or would they be Basseba Houndus?

My mind never really got a chance to focus on that concept because the Shiba’s owner just started to cry.

“My poor baby will have to live with that her whole life! She’ll never be the same. She’ll never trust.”  It was over the top, even for a wealthy drama queen.

“Hey lady,” There was an edge to his tone. “If you ask me, your little bitch seemed to enjoy herself. If you ask me, she started it,” he said. I don’t think he was using the term “bitch” like show dog people did.


“How dare you! You—he didn’t let her finish.”

“You’re telling me she wasn’t giving him looks? You’re telling me she didn’t lift that little rump of hers up in the air inviting him?”


To be totally honest, at this point it was getting really difficult to not break a smile. I mustered all I had to remain in control.

“Bring him back when he is less anxious and restless…maybe after an obedience class or two,” I said. The goal was to help Mrs. Shiba save face and get the guy and his hound out of the dog park as fast as possible. That’s when it dawned on me.

Big guy, weird sense of humor, stupid dog—that must have been Mike’s friend. Now, I was going to have to deal with Kelley too. Just then the Basset Dude mumbled:

“Obedience class, ha! I got your obedience class…damn, she sounds just like her anal retentive boyfriend.”

That’s the last thing I heard before the El Dorado zoomed away. As if the situation didn’t have enough weirdness the guy blared the car stereo with Elvis singing: “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog…”



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