Thankful

Now that I'm turning ten weeks old and quite a bit wiser than I was when I left mother back in Kentucky, I've had a chance to think about life. Sometimes it gets me a bit down, and when it does, I want other people to know about it. But after a few yips and howls, I think about what a lucky hound I am.

First of all, I was born in the most beautiful place on earth, the hills of eastern Kentucky. My mother's a famous foxhound. She can outrun, out hunt and out grit all competition. I'm looking forward to the day when we can run down one of those stinking coyotes together. (For you PETA nuts, coyotes really do stink, take my word for it).

I never really got to meet my daddy, but if he looks anything like me, he's one handsome hound. My brother and two sisters taught me how to fight for my fair share, and how a good nip on the ear never hurt anybody (for very long, anyway).

I'm proud and thankful to be an AMERICAN Foxhound, not one of those foreign breeds with a name nobody can pronounce. My ancestors hunted with George Washington, the father of this great country. They ran at his side and ahead of the horses. They showed the way, and never led him astray. Just think what a country this would be, if we could get our leaders back on the right track again.

I'm thankful for the hunter who introduced my mom to my dad. He's the wisest man in Carter County. I'm thankful for the young fellow who fed us and made sure our heat lamp was working in the bitter cold weather. I'm especially grateful to the two young ladies who chased me all around the field when I made a prison break one afternoon (but to be honest, at the time, I wasn't that grateful).

My paws are tired and my tongue's hanging out, so I'll take a break, but I'm not done bein' grateful!