It is very difficult to wrassle one Basset while cuddling the other, so I called my daughter in as reinforcements. She took care of the cuddleBasset, occasionally poking Gromit to watch his head swing between her and me. The young'un was savagely licked on the nose, then cuddled until she gave up. Meanwhile, I'm alternating between "Poke Gromit" and "Grab Gromit's nose." He definitely got the biggest workout of the three.
Finally, Gromit left the battleground, weary of the fray. We convinced him to come back up, petted him, and now Gromit and Winston are sacked on the bed. Winston's old, he'll sleep any time he gets the chance, and Gromit is plumb worn out. Bridget, apparently not finding cuddling as taxing as wrassling, is on patrol through the house and the squirt is in bed.
Yes, this is actually an abnormally normal day (OK, 15 minutes) in my life.
I once fostered a very senior Basset, Sam, who was 14. She loved to play but was so old and arthritic that playing was me sitting on the floor (now somewhat more difficult for me) and flapping her ears around her head while she bounced on her front feet and barked. Her daughter Maggie, 10, was a cuddlebug. This was back when being laid off was a nice two week break for me. I'd lie down on the couch to take a luxurious midday nap, and she insisted on being the pillow under my knees. They were both older than Winston then; they're probably at the Rainbow Bridge.
There just ain't no love like puppy love. And when the puppies are hounds, wash your hands afterward, because they smell like hounds.