The misbehaving Berkshires Basset

I doubt that I'll ever be able to pass by a loose dog without at least stopping to look for an owner, try to catch it, and examine the ID tags.

"Daddy's Little Girl," my new Berkshires canine friend, is no exception.

I've seen "Daddy's Little Girl" ("Ms. Basset") out walking in the evenings with her owner several times. Mom occasionally lets Ms. Basset loose to drag her leash behind her, and Ms. Basset appears not to stray far.

But today when I was walking back from dinner, I saw Ms. Basset joyfully galloping across the field between the dining hall and the dorms.

She was clearly having way more fun than she would be if her mom knew she was running loose.

And she'd clearly been enjoying her newfound freedom for awhile, since she kept collapsing onto her side to pant and rest.

When I walked up to her, she meekly presented her belly for a rub, then stood up and wagged her tail, like she wanted to invite me to join her in her big adventure.

Sorry, Ms. Basset, you're asking the wrong passerby. This here's a Vet Student who Doesn't Like to See Dogs Running Loose. I regret to inform you that your fun is over.

Ms. Basset was equipped with a collar and 3 tags: a rabies tag, a city license, and a dog-bone-shaped tag that read simply "Daddy's Little Girl." (Note: not very useful information to help a Good Samaritan get your dog back to you if found in the evening or on a weekend...)

I thought I knew where Ms. Basset's mom lives, so I headed that way. Ms. Basset followed me for a half-dozen steps, then flopped over again. Nuh-uh, she seemed to say, I don't think I want to go home yet.

So, with a sigh, I bent down and hefted Ms. Basset into my arms.

Basset hounds sort of look like medium sized dogs, but really they are big dogs with little tiny legs. I'd say they average 45-65 pounds. Ms. Basset was on the upper end of this range. My biceps will be mad at me tomorrow.

I toted Ms. Basset over to her owner's presumed house, where she sat patiently next to me while I knocked on the door.

No answer.

With another sigh, I looked around the field and buildings, praying that I would see somebody besides a chorister - somebody that might actually know where Ms. Basset's mom lived.

No luck.

So Ms. Basset and I headed to another nearby house, a house where I knew Ms. Basset didn't live - but this house contained a family that owns a rat terrier, and thus I presumed they might know where Ms. Basset belonged.

However, Ms. Basset seemed to have gotten the idea that I wasn't a fun person to follow around. She again stopped dead in her tracks and refused to come with me.

Any other dog, I'd pull by the collar - but after sleeping on a terrible mattress for a month, I couldn't handle walking hunched over and dragging a 60 pound dog by the neck.

So Ms. Basset got to be carried again, as we stumbled our way across the lawn to the second house.

As luck would have it, nobody home.

Temporarily exhausted, Ms. Basset and I both went back to the lawn and rested on the grass.

And my vet school teachers would be so proud. ("Never pass up an opportunity to practice your physical exam.") I had nothing better to do, so Ms. Basset became my practice "patient."

I discovered the greasy red sore on her neck and the copious black gunk lining her ear canals.

And then, thank the Lord, another resident family walked into view.

Did they know where this pretty girl belonged?

Yes, they said, she lives in that house there. (And they gestured toward the house I'd checked originally.)

Not again, I thought to myself.

My arms couldn't handle anymore Basset weight, so I resigned myself to hunching over and dragging Ms. Basset along with me.

Upon my second visit to the house, I noticed a tie-out cable hiding in the bushes. I tied the cable to Ms. Basset's collar for good measure, before clipping it to her collar.

Then I headed back across the field to my dorm to write Ms. Basset's owner a polite but to-the-point note ("Your dog was running loose around 7 pm. I didn't want her to get into trouble so I tied her up. Her ears really need to be cleaned") and get Ms. Basset some water.

By the time I had gone up the 58 steps to our room, and come back down, Ms. Basset was happily trotting off into the woods with her mom.

I thought briefly about following Mom for a minute and telling her Ms. Basset was loose - but my arms, legs, and back won that battle and convinced me to head back up the 58 stairs and sit down for awhile.

I hope Ms. Basset's mom cleans her ears. Why is it not surprising that the owners whose Basset you find running loose are the same owners who do not care for the ears of a breed of dog notorious for having terrible ear problems?