Someone needs to stand up for the basset hound, after the recent, snarky Times piece, "Putting the Pounce Back in Your Pup."
I suspect author Robbie Brown (who already must have had an epiphany about hounds, changing his pup's name from Flash to Elvis) is inordinately fond of Elvis, as evidenced by his taking Elvis to the office, providing him with as many comfy beds as possible to indulge his sleeping habit. It's a good habit, too.
As for me, I have plenty of pounce left. I just choose to use it when I want to, rather than acting like some hunting automaton. I mean, really! Have some pride in one's intelligence, rather than act blindly just because some human decides that's what one should do!
Lately, I've been discovering members of the avian genus, literally right under my nose. I've encountered several baby robins, a baby oriole, and a baby bluejay. I sometimes like to fly, so perhaps I feel kinship. I could have spread my wings, and done a thousand things I've never done before...
I could have pounced, all right, but I didn't.
Someday I'll get to the Norfolk Hunt Club and see how it's really done, but for now, I'll be happy just going nose to nose with whatever creatures come my way.