Was just thinking about the basset hound

Long ago and far away, I was one of a country family of eight. Most of us loved animals.

Dad, not so much. He didn't hate them, and he made sure each of us had the animals we needed. But he wasn't committed.

We lived near a four corners, an intersection, and it was extremely common for people to dump off unwanted animals there, and a lot of them came to our house to beg sanctuary. On any day there might be a half-dozen cats, and as many dogs lounging around waiting for their kid to get off the school bus.

Once, when all of the stray advocates were in school, a handsome and apparently purebred basset hound strolled in and fell asleep on the welcome mat.

Dad decided that was the line he would not cross, and when he went off to make his preacher-calls, he took the basset along and pushed it out of the car near a farm.

It was several hours before Dad got home. The basset hound was back on the welcome mat.

We named him Sherlock.