I always believed that Beanie could make a person drop food using the power of her mind. She would sit ever so neatly just within the peripheral vision someone eating, and stare at them intently. After a few seconds, even if the person was seemingly managing to ignore her, there would be a moment of miscoordination – a slip that would send a little morsel falling to the floor – and in a flash The Beanster would be there to consume it.

Last week Daisy proved to me that she also has mind control powers. It happened on the morning she’d barfed a portion of her breakfast onto our bed. After putting the bedding in the wash I gave her a small supplementary breakfast by way of compensation – not an easy thing given that Monkey has a sixth sense for detecting food handouts – but it seems I didn’t quite give her enough. Later during the walk she began nipping my calf through my jogging pants. This is something that Daisy has done routinely on walks since she was a pup, and I always take it as a signal that she wants a little moment of affection. I stop, she stands up on her rear legs and I bend down to meet her, and after at least 30 seconds of ear fondling, bonce kisses, tummy tickles and wagging, she’s ready to resume the walk. This little ritual has become so well ingrained that it’s almost muscle memory: stop, bend down, soppy exchange with Daisy, and off we go.

This time however my unthinking response was different. I stopped and looked down into Daisy’s eyes but before I could do anything else, my free hand had retrieved a biccie from my pocket. I stood looking at it, puzzled as to why I’d done it. Getting a treat out of my pocket is usually a very deliberate action, something done specifically as a reward for good behavior, yet there I was – biccie in hand – in response to Daisy’s “show me love” request. Of course now that I’d got the biccie out there was only one possible follow-up action: split it and serve it up to the pups, which I did. I pondered on the incident as the walk continued,  and I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow this “get biccie” response had been implanted in my mind by a hungry girl who’d barfed her breakfast that morning.

Hmm… need to keep thinking of that brick wall, or there’s no telling what she’ll have me do next time :)

Beagles are often regarded as a hardy breed but out of the five we’ve sampled directly, only Daisy really displays that quality; the rest of ’em tend more towards the Laurel end of the spectrum, especially when it comes to their tootsies. I haven’t kept count of the number of roadside repairs and magic rubs I’ve given to Beagle paws, but I bet it’s a pretty big number. Beanie could not handle the gritty salt used on pavements and roads in frosty weather, and if Biggles got the littlest of spiky twigs stuck in one of his pads, he acted like he’d just been impaled by a telegraph pole. Poppy was also a frequent paw-lifter, but those three were all stoic superheroes compared to Monkey.

A couple of weeks ago someone trimmed the hedges along one of our frequent walking routes, leaving various woody bits and pieces on the path. Daisy’s confident little trot didn’t change in the slightest as she entered the debris zone, but the instant Monkey felt something foreign pushing in between his toes, that paw was off the ground. Unlike our previous Beagles, Monkey doesn’t stop and wait for assistance when he’s had a foot contamination incident, instead he prefers to go into limp mode. Now if you’re thinking that limping onwards is braver than simply stopping – a symptom of superior hardiness even – let me put you straight. Monkey limps on not because he’s tough, but because he’s found that limping attracts more attention – not just from me, but also from passers-by (and he does like an audience). This time around there was no-one but me to view the ensuing drama, which is a shame because I’d have loved it if someone had whipped out their phone and filmed it for posterity.

Anyway as one of his rear paws encountered the woody hedge remnants, Monkey raised it and limped further into the debris zone, whereupon his other rear paw also got twigged. With almost balletic grace he lifted his entire rear end off the ground and attempted to continue, but he couldn’t sustain this position for more than an instant; gravity was demanding that he put one of his rear feet back down – but which one? He tried one, didn’t like it and swapped, but he didn’t like that either, so he kept changing legs whilst still trying to limp forward. Suddenly things got even worse – first one of his front paws touched the debris, and then the other. Now all of his paws were affected and he wanted all of them in the air, but in puppy school he’d skipped all the classes on telekinesis and levitation, and physics wasn’t about to take a day off; it was either three paws on the ground, or a bellyflop onto the pavement. He went for the three paw option, but changed which three paws were involved from one second to the next. If you’re old enough and British enough to have seen comedy duo Morecambe and Wise’s signature skipping routine, well it was basically a very silly Beagle version of that:

It was hilarious from my position behind his bum, but I’d have loved to have seen it from other viewpoints. About 60 yards of contaminated pavement lay ahead of us, but my boy made it without needing a carry. He did however need four consecutive magic tootsie rubs afterwards, and the trauma from the incident stuck with him for some days afterwards; there were more paw lifts, but none were quite as comedic.

More shots:

Two years ago to the day we were reeling from the loss of little Poppy, barely three months after we’d lost Beanie & Biggles. In all the ways that really matter, things are much, much better now :)