The Jowerses’ crafty Basset Hound cheats death again

A man gets just one great dog per lifetime. Mine is Rufus, the Basset Hound we Jowerses rescued from a farmer, a once-patient man whose cows Rufus repurposed, single-houndedly. Those cows started out as pasture cows, big lazy cud-chompers that wouldn't turn their heads for a meal. Rufus scared 'em into being free-rangers.

Rounding up frightened cows every day required more patience than the farmer had. Rufus was down to two options: live at my house, or walk the Green Mile to the vet's backroom.

That left me with only one.

I lowered Rufus—a 70-pounder back then—out of the bed of the farmer's truck. While I was getting accustomed to Rufus, wife Brenda went about setting up his very own dog igloo inside our backyard shed.

Rufus might just be the most stubborn Basset Hound in all of creation. He busted out of our backyard a few times, and one kindly neighbor or another always found him and brought him home. He sat there like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, plotting his next move.

His capers didn't thrill everyone. Some years back, a grouchy neighbor called me at 4 a.m. to complain about Rufus' barking. I pointed out that you can't hear a dog bark unless you're already awake or hallucinating. I suggested meditation.

But to keep the neighborhood peace, I put a shock collar on Rufus. Every time he barked, he'd get a little zap. That kept him quiet, for about two days.

I wrote a column about that episode, and that caused a woman from California to email me and tell me that I had made my dog mentally ill. I should let him live in the house with us, she said, just like a family member.

Well, California Woman turned out to be right. You don't Taser your family, even if they've got it coming. I had a dog door installed, and Rufus started coming and going as he pleased. He proved to be housebroken and never ran away again. Since then, Rufus has been to many a softball tournament, and he likes going to the beach in the summer.

Later, I wrote a column about prosthetic dog testicles, in which I hinted that I had considered them for Rufus. Since his equipment was long gone, and he didn't miss his boys anyway, I decided to avoid the pain and expense of surgery to fill Rufus' empty sack with plastic testicles. Especially since the manufacturer also sells them as keychains.

As you might expect, I got a nasty email from the dog ball vendor, who told me that Rufus misses his original equipment.

"How do you know that?" I responded. "That's kinda personal."

Anyhow, Rufus has lived seven long and happy years at the Jowers house, herding me and the Jowers women from room to room, barking at the roadside rabbits, and looking forward to those moonlight beach walks in the summertime. I have given him a nickname: Rufus J. Dogfriend.

Two weeks ago, Rufus almost got sucked up to dog heaven. On Friday night, which is Chinese food night at our house, Rufus found the leftovers. He ate way too much beef and broccoli, and he got bloated. It wasn't just a little bloat, either. If a dog overeats and produces too much gas, his stomach and intestines can twist and kill him in just an hour.

Lucky for Rufus, wife Brenda knows a fair bit of dog first aid. She relieved the bloating, and rushed Rufus to the Nashville Pet Emergency Clinic.

I'll spare you the worrisome and near-heartbreaking details, but suffice it to say that Rufus, who's about 100 dog years old and was given up for dead twice, has made a remarkable comeback. As of today, he's as good as he's been in years. To you faithful readers, even California Woman and my light-sleeping neighbor: Rufus says, "Hey."

Finally, there's this: Just as we've nursed Rufus along for 50 dog years, we've nursed a large leather sofa for about, oh, 2,000 sofa years. But after we pulled off the slipcovers a few weeks back, we saw that all but one piece of the sofa had rotted. There was only one good chunk left.

"What are we going to do with that," I wondered aloud to the Jowers women.

Daughter Jess piped up: "Give it to Rufus. Push it in front of the window, so he can see the dogs and people walking by. He earned that sofa."

Yes, he did. With long and faithful service, which we hope he can keep up for as long as his sofa holds out. Or longer.

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