Strolling Basset Style

Dixie,Grace,Annie and Byron

Living with basset hounds, you tend to learn very quickly that their sense of smell is the predominate driving force. It is classed as the second most scent sensitive dog breed in the world, with over 4,000,000 scent receptors. Everything you see or read has one common fact. Once a basset's nose is engaged, the brain and all commands become non-existent. I have become adapt at monitoring this, as they have a series of predictable actions. Normally they wander about, nose to the ground and not much in a hurry at all. Then they will stop dead, if in a halter and on a lead, the sudden stop will jolt you every time. They become immobile. The tail goes up and the nose works overtime. At this point in time, the strength and power of a close to the ground 25kilo's of hunt dog launches into 5th gear and bolts.
On our daily walks through the coconut groves to the beach, Dixie and Annie have earned the need to be on a lead. Of the four bassets, they are the best at picking up a scent, and the fastest at bolting in whatever direction that scent takes them, and worst for stopping or listening to any commands. They do hear you, as they have given themselves away more than once by actually glancing over their shoulder as they bolt to the undergrowth, as if to indicate "yeah, be with you in a minute". Common folklore has it that if a basset runs from you, you are better to stay where you are, as they will always backtrack themselves, EVENTUALLY making their way back to where you are.. A lesson we have tried many times and it is true. In fairness, in a one-on-one scenario, you may be able to break the run response. If however there are two or more together, once engaged, the pack mentality takes over and you are somewhere at number 5 or 6 in the pack pecking order.


I often joke that they are best amused, when they come across other dogs scents, that may have gone before us, and they will wander in the criss-cross pattern of the previous walker. They always have a good sniff at whatever pee was left behind, as if analyzing it. I refer to this as reading Pee-Mail. Sometimes this will attract all four of them. This I believe must be a significant find, in their minds. They then dutifully have to pee on the previous spot. Byron being the clown that he is and of a higher stature, seems to not notice that the girls may not be done sniffing as he lifts his leg and lets go. Poor Dixie has more than once been the recipient of a sudden shower. She being the smallest, she tends to get the last sniff and her small size makes her just right for fitting under Byrons belly and raised leg. The trip to the beach and the pee mail checking is done very quickly, as the objective is to get to the beach. Despite the fact that they may have gone through this exercise an hour earlier, on the return from the beach, we have the billion blade walk, wherein they walk so slowly as it to count every single blade of grass on the trail. And sure enough, they stop at the very same places they stopped before and repeat the same behaviour as when they were headed to the beach. This is probably a safer time for the girls, as Byron goes through the motions, but by then he is dry. The walk back to Thunderbird 3 is always twice as long as the walk from Thunderbird 3 to the beach.

We live on a small gravel moo that ends at a rubber tree plantation. Across from the house is a large parcel of land that has had a 3 meter high cement block wall built around it. I occasionally see who I resume to be the owner appear with people who look the property over. And since our arrival we have heard that it is destined for anything from a block of single bedroom bungalows to a car park for tour buses. But beyond the fencing there is no activity. It is also a place where the local resident stray cats have decided to make their toilet and to hide out in the long grasses and vegetation. By now, Dixie, by far the most times, has mapped the locations that the cats have designated as their toilets. Often there is a panic run between Grace and Dixie to check out the usual spots for some cat poop. The same dogs will turn their noses up at a rawhide treat, but put a cat poop anywhere withing a kilometer of the house and they are literally on to it.

When we moved to Rawai, I knew this was a predominately Muslim area and that in that some parts of that community dogs are not seen as clean or desirable animals. In one reading I did, if a dog was to enter their home or mosque, it would require a complete cleansing. As it is, our home is about 500 meters at the back of a mosque. The rubber tree plantation goes from the end of pour little street to the back of the mosque, if you turn left after you enter the plantation. So last Friday just after mid-day prayers, Clive and I were headed home and noticed that there were an unusually large number of Muslim people on the streets and motorbikes. Perhaps it was just after prayer time, that we happened to notice the large numbers.

We have taken to sometimes skipping a beach walk day and letting the dogs sniff the street area or in the walled parcel of land. On occasion Annie, especially, and sometimes Dixie have managed to make a b-line into the rubber tree plantation, and of course bear left headed straight to the back of the mosque. Their noses are going and tails flagging as they gallop through the underbrush. Luckily the underbrush has been high enough, but more likely there was nothing left to sniff out or eat,and being ones to choose the path of least resistance, they head back home. I have been reluctant to crawl through the three strands of rusted barb-wire into the brush and grasses looking for them in flip flops. Firstly I do not want to get slashed with the wire, which I am convinced would give me tetanus in a heartbeat. Secondly, the tall shaded cool grass area is perfect for those snakes that want some relief from the sun. So I am torn, between letting them go and possibly end up running amok in the mosque or rousing a snake themselves, and my own personal safety. I will admit that Clive more readily crawls through the wire and grasses in his flip flops. As I said before he feels he has a better chance with a venomous snake bite than the dogs do.

On this particular Friday, they were let out for a sniff around, and I thought Clive was watching them , and he thought I was watching them. Suddenly we became aware that Annie was nowhere to be found.  In order to have some semblance of order, the first business is to contain the rest of them, as they will gladly go along to search, or better head off in the opposite direction. I wandered the street looking for Annie, and Clive the walled property. As Byron is normally very obedient, well for the most part, and he hates to be anywhere out of our site anyway, he got to stay outside. After many walks and calling, and note comparisons, we realized that not only was Annie gone into thin air, but so was Byron. This also happens at a time when the local paper is reporting that foreign dogs are being dog napped and then returned for ransom. These Bassets are not used to road traffic at all. Whereas it seems every Thai dog understands the roads very well, and the expected driver behaviour. Thai dogs tend to sleep by the side of the roadway, sometimes with their head actually on the pavement. They will even run along side the roadway, and stay off the pavement. Driving late at night, I often come across packs of them in single file jogging from trash contained to trash container, and the appearance of my motorbike makes the lines straighten and give way. Normally when I have seen dogs on the roadways, the driver may honk a horn and steer to go around the dog if they happen to be on the roadway. But by no means do they slow down or brake.

So as we are out searching for the two errant bassets, I walk down the main street and notice that there are large gatherings of Muslims sitting on front yards and veranda's and having big feasts. I know that this area is in direct line with the projected traveling route of the bassets. But it is not a singular house, but a number of houses. And there are people dressed in their prayer outfits walking and driving all over. Clive hops on Thunderbird 3 and does a drive around the Mosque and side streets, and then in his flip-flops ventures into the rubber tree plantation. I decide to make my run at Thunderbird 3 and as I get to the festival area, I see Byron and Annie prancing down the center of the roadway. tails in the air, panting and slobbering away, oblivious to the road traffic, the festivities plates and bowls of food and in full gear in the exact opposite direction of home. They had apparently not decided it was back-tracking time. I pulled up behind them and honked the horn, which caused the people on the lawns to look out to see what was happening, and a great deal of discussion ensued, as Annie froze on the roadway and hunkered down and Byron, jumped up and down barking his story to me, as he hopped into the sidecar. Annie had to be lifted up in her frozen rigid state. And back we headed, with Byron barking his greetings to the celebration participants, tail upright and wagging as his slobber flew off in the wind and smeared my arms and legs.