Going to Grandpa's

Apparently my stupid parents are shipping me off to Grandpa's when Mom has the puppies. Which is really lame because birthing puppies doesn't take long. I mean, I know - I was a puppy. Really all she needs is a penned in area and some newspaper, but whatever. I digress.

Anyway, a long time ago (ruffly 21 years ago...get it..."ruffly"...anyway) I lived at Grandpa's - so I guess I'm okay with it. He digs me, even though he doesn't always admit it. He's under the incredibly stupid impression that I won't be sleeping in his room, but I'll show him who's boss.

I'm already mentally planning my trip. I'm thinking of going back to my old antics - the ones he loved so much when I lived there. They included:

• Waltzing into the bathroom during shower time and stealing the paper that hangs on the wall while Grandpa yells at me not to. Now really? Why would you store that delicious paper on the wall if you didn't expect me to grab it? And another thing - if you didn't want to invite me into the bathroom while you shower, maybe you should consider closing the door. But I guess that wouldn't really keep me out - I have a way with doors. Anyway, several times I sped into the bathroom and yanked the paper off the wall and carried it through the house where I proceeded to shred it into tiny little bits. What fun! I can't wait to do that again!
• Digging a massive hole - that was perhaps my all time favorite. He put me outside on a "dog run" and stayed inside "working." During that time I was forced to entertain myself. So, doing what any good pig would do, I found a good smell, sniffed and scratched to get closer to the smell. When Grandpa finally returned I had constructed my masterpiece. A giant dirt hole - ruffly 4 bassets long by 3 bassets high (somewhere around 10 feet by 3 feet, in human terms). Grandpa didn't appreciate my handiness, but let me tell you, it was a thing of beauty. So cool on a nice hot day and so inviting! But he complained...something about recently redoing the lawn or something. I don't know, I wasn't really listening. I was too busy soaking in the wonder of my artwork.
• Gassing him out of the house. Again, another favorite past time of mine. I love following Grandpa around the house. We have contests, but I always win. I start off by forcing myself under his desk and silently PFFFFTTTTING under it. PFFFFTTTTING is the proper term for dispensing basset gas. Anyway, after a few of these usually Grandpa gets "disgusted" and goes upstairs. So, naturally, being the champion that I am, I follow him and continue to PFFFFTTTT where-ever he goes. No where is safe. Nothing is sacred. You might think you have a chance, Grandpa - but I will always defeat you. Usually, this ends by Grandpa getting so "disgusted" that he "has to leave the house." That's right. I win.

So those are just a few of my favorite past-times for Grandpa's house. I'm thinking I may have to relive my puppyhood and partake in some of them. Or I will come up with a whole new plot.

And once I'm returned to my home I'll have to seek revenge on Mom and Dad, because really, I don't understand why they feel the need to ship me off. What have I done? And why am I not
"allowed" in the "hospital" anyway? If Mom would suck it up and just have the puppies in a corner with some newspaper I could stay home. But instead, they shall fear the basset wrath that is Baxter.