This is an old page from Rod Begbie's blog.
It only exists in an attempt to prevent linkrot. No new content will be added to this site, and links and images are liable to be broken. Check out begbie.com to find where I'm posting stuff these days.
But it's a tad on the unwieldy side!
Some footage from a rare occasion where I remembered that my DSLR camera can shoot video.
Now that Bacon is the lone hound of the household, he's back to his old tricks.
Given a tasty rawhide bone, he spends most of his time walking around the house, tail wagging, looking for a place to hide it. Said hiding usually involves burying it in the pile of laundry, or under some of the clutter in our living room.
A fitting final shot of Clyde, one of a series of portraits taken on Sunday by the wonderful Kelly Hoffer. (She has some more shots from the session here)
A heartwarming tale on a sad day for Joy & I: The story of Golden Gate Basset Rescue managing to save and foster 61 hounds after a puppy mill could no longer afford to keep them healthy.
(This is taken at the same time as my previous shot, just with the iPhone 3GS's press-to-focus set to the TV, so the lighting balance got changed. Nice!)
Joy is performing the The Un-Scripted Theater Company in their current show, Un-Scripted: unscripted, and they like to introduce puppets into scenes, so she's practicing with my Muppet Whatnot.
Clyde is aging, and stairs are not his strong point. (You try dragging 70lbs on little stumpy legs!) He made his way up from the beach masterfully, though.
On Saturday, 24th October 1998, I flew from Glasgow to Boston, with little more than a suitcase of clothes and a credit card with a decently high limit.
It's now 24th October 2008. Ten years have gone by. Time for little personal retrospection. How have I spent these ten years?
Enjoying running round and barking at the other dogs. Loudly.
Clyde was taking a leak, then decided he needed to sniff something across the sidewalk. Sadly, he's old, so stopping wasn't an option, thus this attractive lumbering pattern.
If you're trying to sleep, but it's bright out, you've got your own built-in eyemask.
Took the dogs for a walk along the beach at Crissy Field this afternoon.
Took the dogs for a walk along the beach at Crissy Field this afternoon.
Another social software village I’m a member of: Basset hound owners on Flickr. There’s a great community forming of basset owners commenting on each others’ photos, and here, celebrating the birthday of another Flickrer’s dog!
Grammatical pedantry combined with a cute picture of a basset hound on the cover? IT’S LIKE THEY’RE INSIDE MY HEAD!
When Bacon's in the back of the car, and I'm stopped in traffic, he loves sticking his head out the window and getting adoration from the other drivers.
Clyde got attacked by another dog at the dog park this evening, and we had to take him to the vet to get the cuts looked at. A few staples later and he should be right as rain.
Thankfully, he's taking it all in his stride -- apart from strongly refusing to be put into one of those headcone things. No amount of snausages would convince him to wear it!
Bacon, too tired to swat off the ribbon we attached to him.
I treated Joy to a box of Moo Cards for herself -- each illustrated with a photo of the dogs. Here are two, resting in some dog photo holders I picked up for her at Philadelphia Airport.
Clyde isn't spritely enough to hop onto the bed like Bacon, so he's made himself a little nest in the corner of the bedroom.
Picked up from New England Basset Hound Rescue, Clyde is a 9-year-old male, and a gentle sweetheart.
Some of the bassets relaxing in the shade at the Colonial Basset Hound Rescue Basset Bash.
This adorable little puppy stole everyone's hearts at the Basset Bash.
Bacon has had this bone since February. He hides it, then a few hours later "finds" it again, before marching around the house with it for a few minutes looking for a new hiding place. Ad nauseam.
My parents' dogs got similar bones, which they devoured in five minutes flat. I like to think that Bacon's just making economical use of the entertainment value of his bone.
Bacon suffered a back injury this week -- A slipped disc or a pinched nerve, reckons the vet. Poor little bugger has the be kept in his crate (except for "short leashed walks") for two weeks.
Since he's caged and being fed steroids, Keith suggested we should rename him "Veal".
Bacon's tail: Too fast for the LED flash on the camphone.
Joy phoned me on my cellphone at work this week.
"Look at your cellphone."
"What?"
"Look at your cellphone."
"Huh?"
I look at my cellphone. This shot, taken by Joy that morning, was my phone's wallpaper.
"Bitch."
(Apparently, when Joy decided to take the photo, Bacon was asleep too. However, by the time she'd worked out how to take a photo with my phone, he was just staring.)
Poor little bugger. A skunk got him good last night. Luckily, we still had some "Nature's Miracle" from last time, but the house is still reeking.
As is traditional, Joy attended to washing him, while I got in the way and took photos.
...whilst continuing the Bacon-humiliation.
This is an archive of groovmother.com, the old blog run by Rod Begbie — A Scottish geek who lives in San Francisco, CA.
I'm the co-founder of Sōsh, your handy-dandy guide for things to do in San Francisco this weekend.