Help! My Basset Hound Is Robin Williams
As I was being pulled face-first into a thorny hedge this morning, I realized: I have to find a better way to walk our dog. Let me give you an idea of what I’m dealing with: Giant floppy ears that are a foot long. Short freckled legs, six inches in length. A giant brown and white body that look uncannily like that of a very short cow. Adorable, friendly personality who loves all babies, grandmothers, Chihuahus, Labs, and everyone in between. And a relentless cat-chaser who almost dislocates your arm every time he sees a cat. Yes, people, we’ve got a basset hound, and we have a next-door neighbor with ten cats, who wander her yard like Lion Country Safari. It’s a recipe for dog-saster.[SIGNUP]
Murphy, our dog, is a very healthy-sized hound at 74 pounds (“That’s the biggest basset hound I’ve ever seen!” marvel strangers), and is incredibly active for the four hours a day that he’s awake. Honestly, when we got him as an adorable, tiny puppy, we pictured him growing into a portly couch potato, one who’d companionably snuggle with the kids and occasionally wander through the back yard for maybe ten minutes a day.
He does do all those things, and Murphy is one of the sweetest-tempered dogs ever, but when he’s up and moving, Murphy’s energy level is like Robin Williams on an HBO special. He revels in a long walk every day, or a trip to the dog store, or to visit some of his dog friends. It helps him burn off his favorite snack (American cheese), and the joy he gets in pretty much any activity is fantastic.
I don’t mind that he steals my lunch every day, or drools on the couch, or howls at the door every time we go out, but the walks have gotten a little out of control. When he sees one of the ten cats, his tank-like body suddenly shoots off like Seabiscuit, and I’m left frantically clutching the leash, running behind him, dragged under rhododendron bushes, and praying he doesn’t get away from me. Also, I’m afraid I’ll hurt his windpipe if he keeps pulling like this. And if he rips the leash out of my hand and follows a cat out onto the busy road near us … it’s too horrible to think about.
“You need a choke chain,” said one friend matter-of-factly, watching Murphy pull me manically through her back yard. A choke chain? On my baby? I can’t do that. (As I was pulling thorns out of my legs this morning, it seemed like more of a possibility, but I don’t think I can do it.)
“A harness!” said my aunt, who bought us one. Unfortunately, none of us can figure out how to get the harness on. It was a particularly fancy harness, so I think I’ll go back to the pet store again today and ask for a harness made for the none-too-smart.
One thing that immediately springs to mind—I gotta get him away from those cats. So tomorrow, Murphy and I are driving over to the kitty-free trails at Wissahickon High School. Any ideas on how to safely walk a giant, cat-obsessed dog would be very much appreciated.
