On Sunday, the local Bassett club unleashed 25 hounds on campus, which is an annual tradition. Well, 25 hounds and this little guy. He kept losing the . . . ahem . . . scent.
Before the hunt
On the scent
A gaggle of bassets
Also this weekend, met with the film editor before he left for Puerto Vallarta. The long touted media project is almost done, as Steve is putting the final audio tweaks–and a few visual ones–in place. Hard to believe the collaboration stretches back to August. His wife is about three seconds from killing me because of the amount of his weekends and evenings I have monopolized these past few months, but I think in part she believes his efforts are for a greater good; thus I might live another day to celebrate his toil. Hopefully that’s her logic.
So perhaps the horse head outside my office was left by a student.
Well, by the time Steve returns Stateside, three of the four pieces of the marketing strategy will be complete. I’m dedicating January to the final leg. On Wednesday February 13, 2009, everything will make sense.
And I’ll be a year older.
Do those Bassetts make you nostalgic? I look at those pictures, and I’m instantly reminded of two things: The worst case of doggie breath I’ve ever smelled, and a giant Elizabethan collar. RIP, Colonel!
It was kinda odd seeing so many of them ripping around the fields. A few were marked quite like the Colonel. And I forgot about that collar. Poor dog looked like an early prototype for mobile Direct TV.