How Everyone Met Tank the Basset Hound

Thought of the day

This story has been sitting in draft mode since 2013.
I decided I should try and finish it.
Maybe because we lost Tank around this time, 9 years ago. 
Or maybe for some other reason that I can't explain.
But whatever it may be, this is the story of the basset hound we rescued from Utah and how he left a lasting impression on all of us. 

And it is a little long so here's a TL;DR:
Tank, our new basset hound who appeared to be the picture of laid-back doggy chill, stunned everyone when he transformed into a four-legged fur missile and made a break for a Chihuahua by the lake.

Let’s set the scene: July 3, 2010, a Saturday. We brought home Tank, a quintessential Basset hound: long ears that nearly touched the ground, short legs perfectly designed for low-level sniffing, and a sturdy, heavy-boned body. Tank looked every bit the laid-back, couch-companion type.
For that first week, Tank was the dream dog: potty trained, listened, traveled well, and—brace yourself—a basset hound that did not shed. 

That’s right. I shed you not. 

If you’ve ever met a basset, you know they can coat a small nation in fur during a lazy afternoon nap. Tank must have spent his time in foster care gripping onto his hair like it was the last rose on The Bachelor. And I might’ve just been too sleep-deprived from chasing around Kyle, who was only 15 months old at the time, to notice at first. But don’t worry: his talents bloomed, and soon enough, our home was covered in his “basset glitter."

The very next weekend, we braved a trip up to Hayden Lake in Northern Idaho with Mrs. Shife’s family.
During this time, I was a stay-at-home dad taking care of Kyle, so Tank was not my first pick. 
I was vying for Sophie, a gloriously chunky, five-year-old basset diva who, by all accounts, would rather nap than chase anything faster than a cheese puff. Mrs. Shife, of course, fell for Tank’s online profile and thought bringing home a 19-month-old with puppy energy—while we already had toddler energy—was going to be OK. Guess who won? (Here’s a hint: it wasn’t the guy writing this.)

So, how did the rest of the crew meet Tank?

Imagine about 15 relatives up at the lake, all expecting Tank to be another Quincy—our previous basset hound, who could best be described as a coffee table in a fur coat, who only moved if bribed with roast beef. 

Tank had other ideas. 

On a sunny hillside above Hayden Lake, all was well as Tank sat calmly by my side and we enjoyed a beautiful July day.

And then it happened.

Tank spotted something below that registered on his personal snack radar. 

In an instant, he was gone—off faster than a toupee in a hurricane—down the hill towards the boat dock.

It turns out, what caught his eye was a lady strolling her unsuspecting Chihuahua, which, from Tank’s vantage point, looked exactly like a protein-packed Scooby snack just waiting for a headstrong hound to ruin its afternoon. 

There I was, frozen in a perfect mix of awe and mild horror as our new dog gleefully defied his slowpoke reputation. 

I glanced at my brother-in-law, who wore the same “What breed did you say that was?” look, and it finally hit me: Holy cannoli, that is my dog and my dog is insane.

I should probably do something about that, I thought—preferably before Tank secured a new best friend or landed us on a neighborhood watch list. So off I went, charging down the hill to wrangle our unhinged basset and praying that next time, his Usain Bolt moment involved something less likely to sue.

By the time I caught up to Tank and his target, he was howling louder than a karaoke night hosted by howler monkeys. The Chihuahua looked like it wanted to enter Witness Protection, and the woman holding the leash gave me a look so icy that you would have sworn I asked her if she had a few minutes to talk about her car’s extended warranty. Or maybe she just needed a moment to figure out if she had taken crazy pills this morning. 

I apologized profusely.

Then Tank and I headed up the hill.

I did my best to appear very upset with my Basset, but it was hard, as I was in awe of this amazing creature that would be our buddy for the next six years. 

Thanks for reading and stopping by.

I hope you are doing well, and I will talk to you soon.

I will persevere.
I will keep moving forward.
I will be the stream.