Tag Archives: basenjis

Basenjis are not by nature wet weather dogs. At least mine are not. They love a good drought — and heat, lots of heat. So it is always a challenge when it rains, to get them to go outside and “do their business.” 

I take my dogs out on leashes because I don’t have a completely fenced-in yard, and only a fool would turn a basenji loose. (Although it is possible to catch one that gets loose — sooner or later their nose stops them long enough for a lucky fool to catch up, or they can be lured in to an open car door [by someone they know] — I would not bank on being able to do it more than a couple times before they would catch on and keep running.) So it’s not about expecting them to get wet while I get to stay dry. No. When it’s raining, I go out three times, so no dog has to stand around getting soaked waiting for someone else to “go.”

Still, they try at least once to turn around and go straight back to the door. “I don’t have to go now, Mommy. I’ll wait until August… when it’s dry.” And the boys are the biggest pansies. They dig in their heels like the proverbial mule, and have to be pretty much dragged out into the yard. This week we’ve had some rain. It was raining hard enough Monday morning that I delayed taking the Old Guy out until about an hour after the normal time. I knew he had already peed the blanket in his crate — that’s an almost daily occurrence. I have about eight blankets so I’ll always have a clean, dry one to make an exchange while he’s eating his breakfast.

When I finally decided I’d better take him out, it was still raining hard enough that I let him convince me staying out and getting soaked was not going to hurry his bowels at all, so I brought him back in and started getting their food ready. Sure enough, when I put his bowl down, there was a little “gift” on the floor behind him. I got a paper towel, and as I bent to pick it up, I glanced down the hall and saw another in front of my bedroom door. When I picked up that one and turned around, I saw the one he had dropped at the other end of the house, in front of my brother’s bedroom door. And as I passed through the living room I saw one in front of my desk and another in front of the loveseat. He had made his complete circuit, at a gallop, dropping turds on the fly. He had not missed a single room. Talented.

And so I didn’t need to take him out again until the rain let up later in the morning.

If my dogs were Loony Tunes characters, The Old Guy would be Tweety. He just wants everybody to get along. The “puddy tat” may be trying to eat him, but his defense is zero offense. He’s completely non-confrontational. I’ve never seen a male dog with such a disarming personality. Of course, the downside is that the slightest noise can make him fall over (a lot of things can make him fall over, at his age). Another one of his nicknames is “Mr. Twitchy,” because he flinches so often. Sometimes I think he’s just practicing, so he’ll be ready if something scary actually happens.

The Puppy would be Bugs Bunny, always leaning up against a tree munching on a carrot. “Nya, what’s up, doc?” In fact, since he’s on a vegetarian diet (he’s allergic to normal dog food), he has picked up the bizarre habit of searching the yard looking for rabbit droppings. Yeah, that’s right. While his elders would fight each other to the death over some nice fresh cat doo, he’s looking for bunny turds…. And he grazes. Other dogs eat grass to make themselves throw up — he just eats grass because he likes it.

I have such weird dogs.

I see Her Royal Heinous as Daffy Duck, although I’m sure she’d be horrified to know that — so don’t say anything. Daffy is kind of another “Crazy Eddie” type — always doing the wrong thing for the right reasons, and getting blown up to boot. There’s also a bit of Wiley Coyote about HRH, with the Extra Dog playing the part of the Roadrunner. She’s sure she would kill that cat, if only it will: a) come inside the fence where she can reach it, b) act afraid of her, and c) hold the frak still so she can figure out where to bite it.

The late, great Crazy Eddie could only be Taz. Chaos for the sake of chaos was his bread and butter. I know he found things to get into because he liked to see me lose it. “Oh, look. Mommy’s jumping up and down. Let’s see if we can make her do it again. What fun!” 

I’m never tempted to think of the dogs that are gone as in any way saint-like. Basenjis are scoundrels. They are good at it. From beyond the grave they still remind me of what scoundrels they were. My first basenji, Miz Thang, was no exception. She would walk up to my well-behaved Bernese Mountain Dog where he was lying on his rug (this was in the house), and wag her tail all sweetness and light (and basenjis are not big on tail-wagging). As soon as he would lift his head, she’d pounce on him, he’d jump up and start bouncing around thinking it was play time. Then I’d have to yell, “knock it off!” Of course, basenjis don’t mind a little noise, but big, sweet Berners get their feelings hurt. Poor puddin. And what cartoon characters would they be? Tom and Jerry.