Friday Bubba Blogging

First, I need to talk about my dawg, Bubba, the basset hound. Yeah, I know, I need to put in pictures, but, one, I'm Ms. Not Together, and, two, I don't have a digital camera. Once I get a camera, and figure out how to use it, you'll see Bubba, et al.
A few days ago, it had to be Tuesday or Wednesday, because it was after the storm in the morning, I put Bubba on the Bungee-Puppee (a bungie cord leash you can get at academy - I'd link, but one, I'm Ms. Not Together, and two, I usually do this at work, and shopping is blocked), to go out on the morning potty walk with the entourage: Rogue the dachshund, and one or more cats. All of a sudden Rogue is running up the driveway like a little black-and-tan rocket, hair on her neck standing up, barking her head off. Bubba starts yanking me, pulling with all his might, up the drive way. There's a beagle wandering around. Let me tell ya, Bubba can pull! "Arrooo, Arrooo!!"
Up the driveway onto the road, I'm yelling at Rogue, who thinks she's meaner than snot. Bubba's still hallooing and yanking me along. The beagle runs first to the corner, then down the Cul-de-Sac. I get Rogue to stop, and finally dig in to stop Bubba. Bubba's barking turns into a morose howl, somewhere along the lines of, "Come back, Shane!"
I'm thinking...female beagle.
OK, after work, I go to Grandma's house to pick up Bubba and Heidi, there during the day with their Daddy. Since my son was at work, the house was pitch black. I think both Heidi and Bubba are with me, along with one or more cats. Once I get a light on, I notice it's only Heidi and cats. I flip on the porch light and yell for Bubba (and yell, and yell, and yell). Nothing. I'm thinking he's still nearby, because it hasn't been long, he's just being stubborn and not listening. I go get the spotlight and find him sniffing around next door. BUSTED!
I guess I need to say now, I live in a decreipit mobile home. It must have been in a flood in a previous incarnation, because now the floors are rotting. We did refloor the bathroom with plywood, but being the family Not Together, there's a hole that goes under the door. The cats use it.
Ok, so now I'm relaxing, waiting for the boy to call from work. He calls, and I don't see Bubba. He's not behind the recliner or on the futon. He's not asleep on our bed, or on the bedroom floor. Yes, he went out of the hole in the bathroom floor. Out comes the spotlight again. Again I'm yelling my head off. Again it takes a bit for him to acknowledge. I'm highly pissed.
He's a horn dog.
One day soon, he's going to say "Hello" to the vet, and "goodbye" to his nuts.