To name a dog Ludlow, one must have a truly avuncular animal. And basset hound with crooked legs, pendulous dewlap, and massive zebu ears certainly fit the bill.
Ludlow was purchased for $3,000 from a breeder who had true European basset hounds for sale, and these dogs hang more loosely than the typical American basset, which still (in theory at least) being bred for the pursuit of hares and rabbits.
But Ludlow’s job was not to run the rabbit. He really didn’t have much of a job at all. Just wander the grounds of Judge Smith’s stately Georgian home, and not tear anything up.
As a pup, he’d failed a bit as at his task. He’d chewed up an expensive sofa, gnawed away at the binding of a few good books, and let his excrement fall on some imported rugs.
But he’d made it through the scoldings, and the exasperating fights where Judge Smith’s wife demanded that the pup be sent back to the breeder but eventually relented when she looked into those deep brown puppy eyes and couldn’t resist him.
A six-week obedience course smoothed out Ludlow’s rough edges, and by the time he was 18 months old, he was a nice dog to have around the house.
He got meatballs and sausage as daily treats. Sometimes he got ice cream just before bed, but he lived on dog food and bits of cheese parceled out of the fridge.
And he grew to be a fat old basset that waddled down the lawn and bayed at squirrels that leaped among the treetops of the stately oaks in the Judge’s lawn.
Such is the life for an American dog. It is a life of luxury that few other beings in the history of life have experienced, and unlike the people who daily toiled to maintain the home, he could live the life of a retiree while at the prime of his life.
When he was seven years old, though, the discs of his spine began to act up. Some weeks, he could barely walk. The vet who prescribe anti-inflammatories and rest, and above all, he would demand the Smiths put the old boy on a diet. 115 pounds is not a healthy weight for a basset, even a big boy like Ludlow.
And the Smiths would do the diet thing. They’d get Ludlow back down to 100, even 95 pounds, and then the Judge, who’d locked up his fair share of criminals, would see those sad basset eyes staring at the refrigerator.
And the fattening of Ludlow would begin again.
For three years, Ludlow was on this seesaw diet regime. He would still have back trouble, but how could anyone refuse to feed the poor dog?
But when Ludlow hit ten years of age, it became apparent that something had to be done. The vet said the dog was falling apart, and he had to go on a diet soon.
And it just so happened that the Judge retired within a week of the vet’s stark advice.
And this time, the Judge decided that he would do it. This time, he would switch to salads for himself and diet dog food for Ludlow and the walking would begin.
For the first two weeks, Ludlow barely made it around the neighborhood, but after that second week, he’d built up some nice muscle and a bit of endurance.
And for six months, man and dog walked and dieted. And both grew trimmer and more fit.
At next annual checkup, Ludlow weighed in at a strapping 83 pounds. The vet estimated that his ideal weight would be 78 pounds, but he was closer to that weight than he’d been since his was a puppy.
Ludlow’s back and joints were tighter, and he looked like a true hound of noble breeding and not some slobby old seal of a dog.
His back stopped bothering him, and that winter, Ludlow realized a new activity: chasing squirrels.
For the first time in his life, Ludlow began to run the squirrels, and he would do it for several hours a day. No longer encumbered by so much fat and a lack of muscle, he was now a lithe running dog.
And at the age of 11, he was now fitter and more trim than he had ever been.
The next time the vet weighed him, he was 80 pounds, but he was no longer the fat dog he once was. He was a fit beast at last.
Never again did Ludlow get fat. He lived on to the ripe age of 16, truly ancient for a basset.
Fat is never good for a dog. They are adapted to run long and hard. and we’ve made them softer and less healthy than we ever have in history.
But we can make it right. If we can refuse the sad eyes at the fridge and take them out for a good run.
That’s all they need.
