Location: Musquodobit hrb.
Type: Basset Hound
This story is for my uncle, who was devastated when his 18-year-old Basset Hound died:
My uncle wanted a puppy. So he went to the animal shelter to adopt a Newfoundland dog. At the time, his leg was broken so he was on crutches and had a cast with his toes sticking out.
When he arrived at the shelter, the workers let out a Basset Hound instead of the Newfoundland dog. The Basset ran out to my uncle and started wagging his tail and licking his toes. My uncle started laughing and smiling like crazy. He loved him immediately.
“This is the dog you came for?” asked one of the workers.
“Yes, he sure is.” My uncle said.
So my uncle went home with his new Basset Hound, and named him Hunter. Perhaps that mistake was meant to be. Two years ago sadly, Hunter died. He was 18 years old. He lived a happy, pleasure-filled life with my uncle, aunt, and cousin.