My Elvis turns 10 in January. He is lemon and white, and has that distinctive basset bay. He's been with me through good times and bad for the last eight years or so. His age is starting to creep up on him, and when the time comes I will be inconsolable.
I was working in Nashville when a coworker approached me about him. Seems she heard I was a fan, and she had one she didn't want. He was a "replacement" for a Cocker Spaniel that ran out the front door and got hit by a car. At the time, my house was under construction, so we worked out an arrangement for her to keep him until I got moved in.
The day I met him, we went to a fenced in pen behind her house. It was dreary and muddy. About ten Cockers came out of this little dog house...and then here came "Duke" (their name for him). He didn't even come to the gate...he knew they weren't there for him.
Well, her husband eventually got him to the gate. It opened, and Elvis walked right past him, past my coworker, past my first wife...and directly to me. He wet me from fingertip to elbow without ever opening his mouth, and I knew...that was my dog.
When we got him home, he probably drank ten gallons of water and ate fifteen pounds of food immediately. Needless to say, my relationship with the coworker went downhill...
I've said many times that I earnestly hope and pray that, as bassets go, there is not one thing special or unique about him...that every basset is exactly like him. He has his mannerisms, his own personality, even a prankish sense of humor. In all respects, I can honestly say that I am owned, lock stock and barrel, by this basset hound.
Long live the drool!