Romeo Frank

Wake me up when the cameraman's gone!

Once upon a time there was a wee, French Basset doggie. He was long. He was low. He was sleek. His legs were just long enough to reach the ground. His ears were just a bit longer than that. His feet were as big and puffy as raisin scones, and when he shook himself all over, his skin rolled about like laundry in a washer, and his spittle flew like soap suds. His name was Romeo and he lived by his nose, which means that wherever his nose went he followed. Sometimes his nose went this way, and sometimes his nose went that way. So, sometimes he went this way and sometimes he went that way.

When Romeo's nose pointed up, he looked princely. But usually his nose pointed down, and his ears swayed and swept up the scents of a thousand things that only a Basset or a Bloodhound would understand. But no matter, wherever his nose pointed, it didn't point there for long because a Basset's nose is a purposeful nose, a swervy nose that makes the wee Romeo circle right and then left, and again left and then right until he plops down at the end of his leash, exhausted! But I, standing at the other end of the leash, look back in a straight line to the house where we started a few hundred feet away, and I scratch my head in disbelief.