FOUNDER HOUNDER DRAGS MAN TO CRATER LAKE NATIONAL PARK

The dog’s side of the story:

 

He said we were going for a drive. I like going for a drive with the window down. I like the wind in my face.

 

Why wouldn’t I go?

 

Then he shows up in those shorts. I tried not to look too embarrassed.

 

I told him Crater Lake is a National Park so dress appropriately, and this is what I got.

 

My side of the story:

 

It’s not my dog. His name is Rumple and he belongs to my girlfriend.

 

We stopped at Crater Lake on the way to Sprague River for a camping trip.

 

My dad had just bought a chunk of land to live on in his version of hog heaven: Five miles out on a dirt road from a town no one went to on purpose.

 

About the shorts? This is from the early 1980’s, before the Jordan big-shorts fad.

 

The dog and I had a deal: If he won’t bite, I won’t bite.

 

It all worked out. I married founder hounder Rumple’s master and had two sons who make fun of old school shorts.

 

As they should.

Rumple met a nice Rhodesian Ridgeback and started a family with their owner.

 

Along with the two tigers in the air, a new dog found me, another founder hounder. Lucky. We pet the dog and said, “We’re feeling Lucky today.”

 

We’re still feeling lucky with our new bestie: Daisy.

 

In the tradition of Best Dog Ever founder hounder, our fourteen year old miniature dachshund is still a terror.

 

Like a dog rocket she bolts after anything that moves.

 

Best moment of the new founder hounder? She was asleep near the bed and my wife nudged Daisy. The dog clamped onto her socked toe.

 

I watched as the dance began. Like a bulldog in a bullring Daisy locked onto a toe and wouldn’t let go. The song sung was a high pitched scream. And my uncontrollable laughter.

 

This is how relationships best work. Everyone goes away happy, except one big toe. The only loser? The shorts had to go.