It’s that time of year when Biggles temporarily catches up with Beanie age-wise: he’s now 10 years old too. Considering how he is now, it’s easy to forget what a handful he was as a pup. The first time we saw him in the flesh he was out cold, having thoroughly exhausted himself by warbling and wailing non-stop in his breeders’ car. His first outing with us was in a purpose-made puppy carry bag, and all I can remember about that walk was struggling to hold the bag while he tried to bust his way out of it, and the noise. Especially the noise. For years it was impossible to walk in a group and have anybody get out in front of him, because if they did the consequences would be loud and long-lasting. His uncontrollable outbursts even got us thrown out of a dog-friendly cafe in the Lake District – a region renowned for its tolerance for four legged visitors. Then there was the sock hoarding; even as a pup he recognized the value of socks, and any attempt to get them back off him was met with a growly response.

These days he’s a joy to live with. Woofy outbursts no longer happen unless there’s a legitimate reason, although The Bigglet’s’ idea of “legitimate” sometimes differs from mine. Certainly I’ve never felt the urge to alert the whole neighborhood when I’m about to have my dinner, and I never hurl insults at the postie, but I think we’re pretty much on the same page when it comes to Poodles with silly fur-dos. He still has an obsession with socks but now he’s more than willing to swap them for a biccie, as per the terms of the Biggles Sock Exchange Program. On hill walks, he’s the ultimate path-finding guide, but perhaps the best thing about him is that he’s a snuggle machine; you can always count on a really soppy cuddle from his lordship.

We wanted to make his 10th birthday as enjoyable as possible, and I think we did pretty well. It started with a short walk, quickly followed by breakfast served in snuffle-mats. This was followed by a substantial piece of a 24-inch long tripe stick which went down particularly well – so well in fact that even my camera’s state of the art focus system couldn’t keep up with him as he grabbed the tripe stick from hand.

Biggles focuses on the tripe stick as I focus on him

but there’s no keeping up with him as he lunges for the tripe!

On this occasion, Beanie has slightly better manners

The longer afternoon walk took us by freshly ripened blackberries and though I offered to hand-select the best ones, Biggles demonstrated his experience and maturity by going for the self-service option.

Then came the pressies! Biggles has toys coming out of his big floppy ears but none of them can compete with his favorite eight-squeakered monkey, so we got him something he really would appreciate: a new bed for the lounge, complete with firm, fur-lined sides that act as the perfect chin rest.

As tradition demands Beanie got an unbirthday present too. In her case a fresh toy was definitely on the cards; her “indestructable” tuggable fox is in urgent need of stitching, and her other favorite – a stuffing free squeaky raccoon – has been in two pieces for some time. The delivery of a fresh intact raccoon was highly appreciated, though I’ve a feeling it may not last long, because popping stitches were heard after the first tug.

To top things off, the pups got a to share a freshly baked sardine birthday cake lovingly prepared by their mum. Obviously I took the candle out before serving it to them, but still they both nearly choked as they tried to swallow the cake without chewing, as is customary in our house.

All in all a great day for the pups, but unfortunately it was overshadowed for us when Biggles rolled onto his back and proudly showed us his wares. There was nothing wrong with his naughty bits – they’re as furry and easy on the eye as they’ve ever been – but we noticed that the lump on his foot was inflamed and appeared to have grown slightly. We took him to the vets again the following day, and he’s now booked in for an op to remove the lump early next week. I’m very hopeful that whatever the lump is, it won’t turn out to be anything nasty; if it does, the vet says Biggles may need to have the affected toe removed. Fingers crossed for my poor little boy!

After such a long hot and dry spell I’m loving the cooler, wetter days we’re having just now. I feel like I have much more energy, and I’m finally getting round to all the little house upkeep jobs that need to be done before winter. In the last few weeks I’ve fixed some leaky guttering, done some repairs on our deck and painted all the other external woodwork. Most of these jobs turned out to be more challenging than they should have been, largely because the cooler weather has also reinvigorated the furry members of our family.

While I was making plans to fix the house, Beanie & Biggles got to grips with some of the projects that they’d been putting off too. Biggles finally hunted down my last stash of sandpaper and turned it into abrasive confetti. When I came to mask off the window frames, I found that someone had also put tooth-sized holes in all my rolls of masking tape. And those baldy bits of lawn I’d dug over and reseeded with grass? Well Beanie felt they needed a bit more digging, then brought soil samples into our bed for further analysis.

Our beach runs have likewise been more interesting. One day – after completing an interval at a faster pace – I looked round for the pups and realized that they’d fallen behind for some reason. They were maybe 150 meters away, and I could see Beanie running about sniffing something intently while Biggles was lying down with his erect tail wagging away. I called to them, promising chicken and biccies. Beanie looked at me blankly for a second then returned to what she was doing. Biggles stood up and turned to face me, but wasn’t prepared to leave Beanie.

I felt that action would work better than a second call at this point, so I turned my back to them and carried on running. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Biggles was now following me; it wasn’t a full commitment sprint, but he was on his way. He caught up with me quickly so I stopped, rewarded him with chicken and looked back to observe the Beanster. Experience has taught me that a motionless Beanie with her head down in feeding position is a cause for concern (we hold the record at our old vet for medically induced vomiting to remove foreign objects) but in this case she seemed quite animated.  I judged that it was safe to go on a little further, pressuring her to give up on whatever she was doing and rejoin the pack. With Biggles trotting loyally by my side I ran on for another hundred meters or so, then again stopped to assess the situation. Beanie was just a distant dot on the beach now, and I tried calling her one more time.

“Beanie! Biggles is getting chicken and you’re missing out!”

The little Beanie dot stubbornly refused to come running and I realised that I wasn’t going to win this; there was no alternative but to go back and get her. As soon as I started moving Biggles ran on ahead for a short distance, waited for me to catch up, then ran on ahead again as though guiding me back. I was both intrigued and concerned about what could have held the Beanster’s attention so firmly. When we got close enough the mystery was finally solved: she’d found a big plastic milk container and was desperately trying to get at the small mixture of sour milk and sea water that was swilling around inside it. When she saw me heading towards her she looked relieved, just as she does when I help her recover a piece of kibble lost under furniture.

Unfortunately for Beanie, I wasn’t about to help her get the last dregs of milk from that container. I attached her lead and gave her a small piece of chicken by way of consolation, then took a moment to further assess the situation. Did Beanie look wider and fuller than she’d been at the start of the run, or was it my imagination? Just a few feet from the container was its green screw on top. The chances of both the container and its top being washed in so close together by the tide were remote; it was far more likely that the top had been securely fitted when it arrived on the beach, and that my resourceful girl had removed it. Now came the thought that the container had been full when Beanie found it. Checking the label, I saw that the capacity was 6 pints. I looked at Beanie, trying to assess whether there really could be six pints of dodgy milk in there. She was wider than normal, and her stomach did look swollen. I gently palpated her abdomen as I’ve so often seen the vet do; it was firm. Really firm. Van tyres at extra pressure for a long journey kind of firm. For comparison I tried the same test on Biggles: pliable and squidgy. Yep, six pints confirmed. The run back was conducted at a more leisurely pace than normal, and that evening Beanie made a lot of visits to the outside loo, but at least we didn’t need an emergency stomach evacuation at the vet this time.

Unfortunately we did end up at the vet for his Biggleship. For a while now he’s had a little growth on one of his rear feet. A week ago the growth lost its covering of fur and appeared quite red and angry, so off we went to the doggy doctor. The vet quickly dismissed our fears that it could be something sinister, but nevertheless suggested an operation to remove it. Currently he’s on a course of antibiotics to see if that will calm the lump down and shrink it. While I understand the logic of getting rid of this thing while it’s relatively small, I don’t relish the post-op recovery. It’s my litte boy’s 10th birthday at the end of August, but instead of having fun he could be going stir crazy in the house for up to two weeks with stitches, dressings and a bag on his foot. I’ve got my fingers crossed that the op won’t be necessary.