Bassetoodle

You're watching your Bassetoodle waddle across the yard on those short, sturdy legs — ears dragging through the grass like two velvet curtains, nose glued to some invisible scent trail that apparently leads to the most important thing in the universe (it's a leaf). They stop, look back at you with those deep soulful eyes framed by that curly-meets-droopy face, and you realize this dog is simultaneously the most ridiculous and most dignified creature you've ever loved. Part Basset stubbornness, part Poodle cleverness, your Bassetoodle figured out three weeks ago that if they sit at the bottom of the stairs and look pitiful, you'll carry them up. They're not tired. Their legs work fine. They just cracked the code. You didn't adopt a dog — you adopted a low-riding, floppy-eared con artist with a PhD in emotional manipulation and a nose that can smell a cheese wrapper from two rooms away.