HOW I GOT INTO BASSETS
By: Father Pat Kennedy
(Published in 1979)

I'm often asked, as I'm sure we all are, "How did you ever get interested in a basset hound?" Well, it's all the fault of Sandy, a stray mongrel who was dropped off at my house one day while I was busy elsewhere. Sandy had wandered to my brother's house and as they had already a dog and a cat, the kids decided that "Sandy" would make a good gift for their priest uncle.

Sandy quickly became a good house pet and a steady companion in the rather ancient residence in the rural or outport parish I was stationed in at the time. I dutifully brought him to the vet, got a collar and lead and the usual paraphernalia associated with dogdom.

In the midst of all this plenty, tragedy struck one night. Sandy went out for the necessary about 9 p.m. He usually never left the circle of light around the back door. However, he heard some children playing nearby, ran to meet time and was struck and killed instantly by a passing car.

I decided then and there that I would never have another dog! I gave away all the "doggie" stuff and settled down to forgetting Sandy.

That proved a very difficult task in my solitary situation. I wasn't able to put out of my mind that happy playful dog. So after a few months I thought of "just looking" around for a purebred dog. I have always liked the Labrador retriever, and since this is the land of that breed and of the noble Newfoundland, I started looking for such a pup.

A very helpful man at a local pet supply store told me he couldn't located a lab pup but did know of a litter of Bassets which was available nearby.

I didn't even know what a basset hound was, much less looked like, but I agreed to see the litter.

That was April 1973. I saw the bitch and the litter and of course fell completely for the breed. A week or so later I brought home what has proven to be my agony and ecstasy, Pippin of Killock Kennels.

I was amazed that any dog could be so constructed. All ears, loose skin and, it seemed to me and my housekeeper, very, very fast acting kidneys. Pippin was a wonderment.....how could he eat and bark and run and demand and receive so much attention? Pip's favorite resting place was an old recliner in the living room. He was too small to get up in the chair on his own but smart enough even at seven weeks to sit and bark until he was lifted up to settle in a position of comfort.

Pip also had a favorite place for toilet activities. Under the dining room table! Smack dab in the middle of the best rug in the house! Other areas were suggested to him, to no avail. I got a sand box, thinking he could at least be trained to go there; he ate all the sand, nearly died and was throwing up sand for weeks. I figured that if he had easy access to the outside he would prefer to go out in the run. So, a hole was cut in the porch connecting to his run. I reasoned that whenever he felt the need, out he'd go. However, Pip figured that whenever he felt the need he would go as usual on the dining room rug and then run outside very fast so as not to have to deal with the consequences of the discovery. Pip found a further use for the exit hole one night when a young couple came to discuss their marriage plans. They removed their boots in the porch; two new pairs of expensive leather footwear. Since Pip was barred from the discussion he decided to take the boots out into his run. Unfortunately, the run was muddy, slushy and it was a night when we were enjoying a downpour of rain and snow. When the couple were ready to leave, you can imagine the mess their boots were in and my embarrassment. To make things worse, I had to go out in the dark and rain and probe around Pip's run for my parishioner's new boots. In many such ways Pip endeared himself to me and the parish!

One fateful weekend, the Archbishop came to visit the parish. This was his first visit and it was my first parish. The Archbishop is not a great lover of dogs especially drooley, sheddy, ever-present ones who sit in your chair, plop there jowls on your leg and mournfully cry for a bite of your toast or your roast.

I advised the Archbishop to keep his bedroom door closed as Pip had a habit of removing towels, clothes, bed-clothes and anything else he could carry downstairs for a tug of war as his master would try to retrieve. He would then play "tug-of-war" to his great delight.

Anyway, predictably, the Archbishop forgot my advice. Pip came in from his run; again the weather was bad and so was Pip. He bounded up the stairs while we were at supper, rushed into the Archbishop's room, jumped on the bed, dried himself thoroughly in the clothes, then dragged the whole wet, muddy mess down to us in the dining room.

By now Pip was almost fully grown. He was finally house-trained, sleek and shiny, a very distinctive dark tri, happy and totally spoiled.

One reason for his good condition was his daily exercise and frequent trips in the woods. Our terrain is very rough, rocky and bog strewn, not good territory for a long, low and heavy basset. Pip was undeterred. He would bound along, and when he got caught in the low shrub, or deep bog would just stay there until he was discovered and then go on again.

In addition to these sorties in the woods, each evening after supper I would walk Pip off his lead nearby my house. He was particularly fond of a tethered goat which grazed in a nearby garden. Religiously, daily for weeks he would run to the goat's garden, circle and bark at the goat to his own great amusement and the goat's fury. One evening, Pip made the mistake of getting too near the goat. The goat charged, struck Pip in the midrift and drove him many feet in the air. Fortunately, only Pip's pride was damaged. We continued to walk that way every evening, but he never bothered the goat again.

A number of people suggested that I "show" Pip. I had heard of dog shows but had never been to one and certainly knew nothing about such events. Besides they were held over weekends which was not compatible with my profession.

Another year went by, again I was urged to show my basset. I made the plunge, paid the fees, but when the day of the show arrived, I chickened out. My problem was I didn't know anything about ring procedure, I didn't even know there was a ring, no one told me. Finally throwing caution and all the prudence that I was supposed to have to the wind, I entered and went to the next show. Well, as I entered the stadium where the show was taking place, I found out that while I was ready, Pip was not! We ran smack into a big Newfoundland at the door and Pip decided that if they all were that big, he was having none of it! He slipped his lead and headed very quickly across the parking lot. Later, when I finally retrieved my basset and got him back to the show, he decided that these events were great fun.

Pip took the open class, then the breed, defeating an entry of four including a very fine Champion. Pip concluded his day with group two and best Canadian bred in the group. I might add that Pip accomplished this with no help from his handler. I didn't even know which end to hold up or realized that we were winning. The stewart had to continually haul me back in the ring for the next class.

Now I have three problems, all occasioned by "Sandy" and my Pip, I'm hooked on bassets, hooked on showing and have no great success with either. Indeed, a friendly exhibitor of another less auspicious breed commented to me a few weeks ago as I came out of a fun match with my "second" placing bitch in a class of two, "Do you ever win?"

Like everyone else I hope someday to be winning. I'll either breed or buy but someday I'll find that just right basset to win, place and show. However, for now I'm quite pleased to have Pippin and the others. They may not be the greatest, but to me, they're the best.

One more Pip anecdote: Over a year ago I moved to my present parish and noted that one of the churches had no holy water font.

I looked over the church supply catalogues and found that what was offered was either too gaudy, too expensive or like everything else, too far away in Montreal or Toronto. Then a revelation! I eyed Pip's bright new shiny stainless steel feeding bowl. So I called a contractor, gave him the bowl and my plan for a new holy water font. Pip looked on balefully. The next week the contractor presented me with a beautiful holy water font which rests securely today at the entrance to St. Thomas of Villa Nova Church in Topsail, Newfoundland.

The contractor, a man of much wit and wisdom also gave me a little commentary on the whole procedure.

"To all you who dip,
please think of poor Pip,
and the loss of his bright, shining bowl.
To him quite a disaster, provoked by his master,
but it's all for the good of the soul."

P.S. Things did change.

By 2006, Deanery produced 36 Canadian Champions, 9 U.S. Champions and 8 times won BIS, many Best Puppy In Show awards, and a three time Speciality Best In Show Winner who also won an Award of Merit (AOM) at the U.S. Nationals!