Anomalies in basset anatomical hygiene

There is an art to basset hound washing. While I have chosen a major in Basset Studies, I’m still sophomore in the Art of Hound Grooming series.

I don’t know about other bassets since Blanche DuBois was brought into our life unexpectedly under mysterious circumstances, but her sternum is built like the prow of a Viking ship—which is covered in folds and rolls of blabby fur. And the back of her neck is no better, with one giant roll drooping from base of skull over her vertebrae.

Basset skin is incomprehensible until you’ve really spent time trying desperately to clean it so it looks at least sort of white. The folds are connected to nothing. They seem to just rest in drapes across the body completely independent of a skeletal relation. I used to gently massage the waddle and back of the neck roll, working the collar-stained fur into a delicate lather. Now I know better. I reach in and squeeze handfuls of skin—using two fists and still not getting it all—and just wrestle her layers into a deep lather. If my grooming were a style of massage, it would be Russian, not Swedish.

I’m glossing over the uterine waddle. I don’t know what else to call it. Her muffin top? I pull and hold her skin taut to get to the belly fur and scrub it clean. Rinsing is a series of pull, spray, release maneuvers that require the technical knowledge that the dog is fundamentally made of iron ore—no matter how severe the bathing appears, it doesn’t affect her in the least.

I feel like tonight was a success story in my Basset Studies. I think I turned out a pretty clean dog. There was some spousal debate as to whether I had missed a spot on her chest or whether she was just naturally brown there, but it was ultimately decided that she was mighty clean so it must be brown. Now, she’s laying like a princess in a towel burrito on the couch. She hates bathing, but for some reason being toweled is just the best thing in the world to her. Well, second best, next to bull penis.