Our caravan has spent far too much time sitting unused in our drive this year, so when a few dry days showed up in the forecasts we dusted it off and headed to a campsite a few miles out of Oban.

The site is directly on the coast, so after a seemingly interminable time stuck in the car, our pups got to stretch their legs down by the sea. It was extraordinarily sniffy and Beanie & Biggles’ noses sounded like Geiger counters on a bad day at Chernobyl. It was only when we returned to the caravan that the reason for all this nasal interest became apparent: the beach was the local walk of choice for all the dogs on the campsite, and there were lots of ’em. Bassets, Yorkies, Boxers and Collies to mention but a few. With so many dogs on the site you’d have thought that one would have claimed the job of camp warden, but no, none of them were dog enough for such a vital role so once again it fell to Biggles to keep order. For the next hour or so everyone and everything passing by our caravan was on the receiving end of a stern (but thoroughly deserved) woofing. Once the whole site had been made aware that there was a new sheriff in town we were finally ready to drive into Oban itself to check it out.

Being a seaside town, Oban is well served by Fish & Chip shops and that of course means lots of dropped chips on the pavements. Beanie was ready, willing and able to clean up every street in the town, but she’d been beaten to it by an army of seagulls.

Like other seaside gulls, these were bold, pushy and in some cases rather plump. They also seemed blissfully unaware that a fat, brazen bird with chips in its belly is the very definition of a “Happy meal” to a Beagle.  Fortunately for them, both our pups are completely inept at catching living things (even though they both fancy themselves as ace hunters). That didn’t stop Beanie scaring the bejeezus out of a couple of ’em though. At one point she lunged after a gull so fast that she nearly went over the harbor wall!

You ate my discarded chips and you are below me in the food chain. GET IN MY BELLY!!

We returned to the caravan with seagull-less Beagle tummies, and there was a further hiccup in store for our two furry children when bedtime arrived.

Like most other dogs, our two know their daily routines very well. In the caravan, the bedtime routine should go like this: you go on a short last “toilet” walk, then the humies take out a dental chew and break it in two, whereupon you sprint into your travel crate and wait to receive your half of the chew. This evening however I completely miscalculated the time taken to erect the travel crates and took out the chew too early. Beanie’s crate was already made up so she dove straight in and got her treat immediately, but Biggles wasn’t so lucky. His crate was not accessible, yet the only way to get his chew was to be in a crate. Faced with this insoluble dilemma and desperate for his treat, panic overtook him. Ever seen one of those Star Trek episodes where Kirk ties a computer up in its own conflicting logic, causing it to run back and forth until it breaks down? Same thing here. I think Biggles’ thought process (if you can call it that) was roughly:

“Oh no, I’m not in a crate so I can’t get my chew. Ah, there’s a crate here! I’ll run into that!”

“Oh bugger, Beanie’s already in this crate. I’d better leave quick or she’ll bite my bottom.”

“Oh no, I’m not in a crate so I can’t get my chew. But there’s a crate here! I’ll run into that!”

“Oh bugger, Beanie’s in here and she’s going to bite my bum.. I’d better go!”

And so on.

He’d been in and out of Beanie’s crate at least five times before I managed to grab his collar and restrain him until his own crate was ready. When I finally got him in there and delivered his chew he was instantly happy, but Beanie wasn’t, because her chew was long gone. Her request for a second one went unanswered, so she eventually settled for telling her bed off rather loudly. Like Queen Victoria before her, Princess Beanie was not amused.