Bassets

So often I ponder, to blog or not?

Today I thought not.

So, I logged in to remove the link to the Domestic Executive Facebook page. Part of my defiant attempt to squeeze useless social media from my life, and save the souls of others too.

And, here I am. Pondering, to blog or not?

It’s not like I don’t “blog” – I pour a daily feed of photographs of the good life from Instagram into the blog just to let my Dad and my in-laws know I’m still alive and kicking.

I’ve just lost the long-form blogging habit. The personal journal-like publication that became personally uncomfortable as my life changes and challenges.

But my Instagram feed is to be believed, basset blogging still rules 2018 style.

I love to write. To take photographs. Put the two together and you could have a blog. Who knew!

No promises. No more pondering. Let’s see.

It doesn’t take much for the vivid memories of the Christchurch earthquake to come flooding back. Four years on, my body still floods with adrenalin when I least expect. The heavy rumbling of a bus passing a bookshop last week momentarily set me looking for somewhere to hide. Strange really, because when it comes to real earthquakes that we do get from time to time, I feel strong and confident in the knowledge of what to expect.

Aside from the lingering sense of nervousness, the after effects of the Christchurch earthquake only show up in my outlook on life. Facing a life threatening situation does wonders for your sense of perspective of what’s important and what’s not. Although there is a big wide world to experience and embrace, ultimately it is only those you love and care about that really matter most.

Ten days ago our world was shook up and thrown down in the most brutal way. The aftershocks are painful and I need more strength than I have within me now to write much about it yet. But, the painful fact is that on 12 February we said farewell to our Big Basset, Fortnum. Yes, our larger than life hound is gone from our lives. It was fast from a cancer we didn’t know he had.

I am mad as hell about what’s happened and bereft at the enormous gap that can never be filled. Fortnum’s life was full but too short, he was 7 and a half.

It’s not like you can ever prepare yourself for the loss of a loved one but the nature of Big Basset’s passing has deepened the shock and grief. Our daily routines that seemed so important before have fallen away, partly because they are a constant reminder of Fortnum but mostly because they just don’t seem to matter any more.

Our bassets arrived as a pair. A big one and a little one. A noisy one and a quiet one. One that runs and another that trots. They were a perfect balance, each with their own personalities and foibles but as a package they couldn’t be better matched. Even their names only really make sense when spoken together.

Little basset is doing well but he’s never had to be a solo basset. Emotionally and practically we have massive challenges ahead. We’re taking it one day at a time. People tell me it will get easier but so far the pain just dulls until a little aftershock arrives and the grief rolls over in overwhelming waves.

Mason says it all with big deep sighs. It’s like an expulsion of air to take the edge of the hurt. A safety valve for the pressure that builds inside.

Intellectually I know that over time things will get better. It’s good to focus on practical things and professional work. Distracting the mind fools you thinking that life is OK. But it’s a fool’s game you can’t sustain.

Counting my blessings helps. Hugging Mason helps. Talking about Fortnum to all our dog loving friends helps. Crying helps. Receiving love and support from my husband, friends and family helps. The brutal truth is part of our family is gone and we just need to let grief play its gruesome game.

And when that’s done, we’ll be able to celebrate, remember and give thanks for all Fortnum brought into our lives.

If bad luck comes in threes, the we’ve had that squared in recent weeks.  The first daffodils in the garden that heralded Spring were my symbolic start to more writing and photography. Yes, 1 September was the deadline to start of my new blogging  rhythm but then germs, domestic calamities and hound health worries left me distracted, not mention physically and mentally under a rather gloomy cloud.

It seems I’m a magnet for this year’s winter germs. Passing from one client office to another has exposed me to a multitude of corporate infections, not to mention my nearest and dearest bringing home his own version to share. It’s been a double whammy, winter blues and bugs that annoyingly don’t make you bed ridden for a few days but instead cause malingering tendencies and an overwhelming desire to stay in your pyjamas all day. And, just when you think you’ve kick the nasty into touch it’s back like a punchbag to knock you sideways again.

I’m fed up with feeling below par, tired, grumpy and dealing with stuff that seems to break. First it was the water filtration system that cleanses the rainwater we harvest, then the washing machine packed in and after a few minor mishaps technology wise I managed to shatter the screen on my iPhone. Each of those things in itself is annoying but manageable, it’s the nightmare of getting replacements and repairs blighted by failed deliveries and obstreperous insurance people with weasel ways that strains what little resilence and patience I still have.

The hounds haven’t minded too much though as they’ve been able to waddle around their walks at basset pace without the usual impatient calls to hurry up, be quick and cruelly getting them excited about something fictitious for them to chase. No, for them it’s been basset business as usual with their noses to the ground and digging around the undergrowth sniffing out unmentionable things.

It’s hard not to let them have their hour of play. After all what else does a hound have in life but eating, sleeping and lounging around hogging the space on the sofa. To be fair they deserve a little downtime as Mason is nursing an injured tail from some rather too rough play at doggie day care and Fortnum has become such a frequent visitor to the vets of late that he is known by every nurse and vet who works there.

Poor Big Basset has been prodded and poked in the relentless search for what’s causing him to drink copious amounts of water. Good news is that it’s not cushings or addisons disease and although he has tested negative for diabetes we’re now seeing whether its diabetes insipidus which involves me collecting urine samples which I have learned takes a lot of skill if you’re not to alarm your basset too much!

Aside from being a total misery there are lots of fun things happening too but most exciting of all is that the days are longer and brighter so you might actually believe summer was on its way. Tune in soon, I promise to be back with a little more cheer.

When the iPhone was first launched some of the photography fraternity got very sniffy about its legitimacy as a proper camera. After all, no self-respecting photographer would use a phone to take photographs; serious photographers lugged around several kilos of camera and lens instead. It wasn’t long before the young rebels in the photography industry declared that the best camera to use was the one that you had with you and if that was your phone camera that still made you a photographer. Amen to that.

I rarely carry my SLR any longer on my daily walks with the bassets unless the light looks particularly appealing and I have time to spare boosting the basset image library. Instead I rely on my iPhone which I carry with me like a security blanket as if it will cure-all ills and keep me safe during unexpected earthquakes. So here’s my disclaimer, I took all these photographs with my iPhone and although originally destined for my Instagram feed on closer inspection I decided they were perfect basset blogging material instead.

Just before I left on my trip to the UK a bitter southerly was a stark reminder that we are in winter bringing biting winds and damp weather, the worst combination for a basset with creaking joints. Poor Fortnum started suffering with arthritis over a year or so ago, a natural result of being a big dog on little legs. To combat the worst of the effects he has an outdoor coat for bitterly cold days, a daily natural food supplement and wears a magic collar that together keep him mobile and his tail wagging in ways that he didn’t without. For extra special measures, we are now the proud owners of a special pet ramp so the hounds can wander in and out of the car, instead of leaping down putting further pressure on their ageing legs.

If you’re raising your eyebrows at the extensive array of pet pampering you’re not the only one. Fortnum is not keen on being shown up when he’s out and about especially if other dogs are looking. Mason of course thinks it’s all marvellous and sees his coat as the only reasonable alternative to staying indoors in front of the fire although it doesn’t stop him taking every opportunity to take shelter wherever he can. Fortnum’s greatest indignity is to be busy sniffing and suddenly a gust of wind will blow up his coat exposing his nether region to the elements.

The hounds year seven in September and officially reach middle age although we’re hoping that all the special measures will keep them healthy and mobile for many more years to come.

People often mistake a basset’s doleful looks as a sign of low intelligence. But no, bassets are deeply thoughtful dogs who act almost entirely in service of themselves. Asking a basset hound to co-operate for your benefit is a short cut to insanity.

They will rarely quicken their pace at your request but in the blink of an eye will dash off to follow a scent or rush up to a stranger to say hello. You may call them incessantly to come to you but will appear at your side at lightening speed without being called the moment you have food in your hand. Sometimes you only get a raised eyebrow as a gesture of recognition that you are in their company but when they want a neck rub they’ll insistently paw at your leg or twist their neck around your hand until you give them the attention they demand.

Admittedly my basset hounds are long-suffering when it comes to me taking their photographs. Over time they have determinedly looked any other way but at me and a camera, except if I am dangling something to eat above my lens. But I tried both food and neck rubs as an incentive for a mini portrait session in the garden before I left home to travel to the UK and they stubbornly refused to sit where I could get the best light or pose nicely together. Mason showing me I was not part of their pack at all by washing Fortnum’s face.

So instead I have a set of photographs of unsmiling basset faces. These are the faces of bassets showing their defiance subtly as compliant but not complicit hounds. They are such ungrateful beasts who know exactly who holds the power.

Loitering at the lunch table of a workshop last week whilst I contemplated whether to snaffle the last chicken satay my ears pricked up to a conversation about the annoyance someone felt about the invasion of pet photographs on the internet.  Listening in on a story about cat congested Facebook feeds, I heard how this person had “unfriended” a friend because all they did was post videos of cats doing cute, dumb and clever things. Slightly shocked at the strength of anti-cat feeling I stood back from the conversation before my own Internet indulgence of basset hounds was exposed.

Since then I’ve felt the weight of social media guilt. The thought of my ‘friends’ raising rolling their eye balls back at seeing yet another photograph of Fortnum and Mason made me stop my daily snaps of my beloved hounds. I steered clear of posting on Instagram and Twitter for a few days although still couldn’t resist scrolling through sneaking a peek at the beloved hounds who frequent the streams of #basset #bassethound #bassetlove on Instagram. There is a wonderful community of basset loving people sharing life with their hounds. There are plenty of hound comedy routines but mostly its lots of close ups of sleeping hounds complete with jowls, wrinkles and flailing paws. There are tales of woe that make me go hug my hounds a little bit tighter.

After a few days basset blogging dieting I’ve come to the conclusion that if other people get as much pleasure from seeing pictures of my hounds as I do being acquainted virtually with their hounds who am I to deny people that pleasure. So with apologies to my friends who may need to “unfriend” me on Facebook to avoid my basset obsession I’m back blogging today with a large overdose of hound photographs.

These photographs were taken over a month ago when our temperature sensitive bassets were struggling with the heat of our lingering summer.  They sum up our walking routine where their noses are to the ground as they swagger along swinging their ears. Usually Mason in front with Fortnum bringing up the rear, often reaching top basset speed to catch us up and then needing to lie somewhere cool to take in the view.  It was tough to edit out this story so I’m making up for the lack of basset posts in the last few days. So if you don’t like dogs, bassets or pet photographs best you look away to something else you might find more interesting now.

I have a recalcitrant basset fighting my Macbook so he can sit on my lap. For now, the laptop computer has possession of the lap, but a basset snout can be a forceful instrument so you can be sure that this pushy basset will eventually get his own way. Bassets do not make the best perch for a laptop nor ideal workstation ergonomics, but where laps and bassets are concerned there is no contest.

It’s been a hectic time recently travelling for work, trying to stay one step ahead of the spring growth in the garden and some weekend entertaining with friends. Studying can be all consuming making regular blogging hard to maintain, but the end is in sight for this year’s modules even if there are 5,000 words between me and the finishing post.

On days when I am at home, the high point is always when I take the hounds out for their daily perambulation. This is the time when I give my brain a rest and leave the chores on the list for an hour. Admittedly gale force winds and rain of biblical proportions has interrupted normally walks as bassets develop powerful suction on their paws that anchor them to the sofa watching the rain pound the ground and trees bowing over in the wind. I can’t blame their reluctance to do battle with the weather as Wellington’s famed horizontal rain is no fun at all, and if you have the equivalent of a set of powerful sails attached to the side of your head you would want to keep those flappy ears safe from driving wind and rain.

Last summer we found a new forest walk close by and on fine days it is a remarkable place to walk. The pathways are filled with pine needles, a perfect soft carpet for big basset paws and largely sheltered from any wind. On a fine day, the sun shines through the forest canopy dripping light in an almost magical way. It’s the place where you can fill your lungs with fresh air and open your mind so the cluttered thoughts of work, study and chores blow away. As the bassets undulate amongst the trees, it’s a non-stop game of chase with Fortnum breaking the silence with his deep seal like bark.

Occasionally though the hounds are happy to oblige for a posed photograph before they shoot off again weaving their way down the path. Seeing the hounds scuttle along like rabbits makes me want to kick up my heels and follow suit. And if no-one is around I might just do that.