In those early weeks after getting Poppy I remember taking her for a walk and thinking “wow, this really shows just how manageable Beanie and Biggles have become”. At some point in their lives we just started trusting them to be left alone in the house while we worked in the garden or had a conversation with a neighbor; on walks I could just say “hold on a minute” while I re-tied my laces or fiddled about with my phone and they’d just stand there quietly without pulling, and if I wanted a posed photo of them I could just tell them to “wait” and (briefly) release their leads without them running off. We’d come to take all of these little things for granted, but with Poppy and subsequently Monkey, all bets were off. Puppies were hard work while our golden-oldie A-Team was – by comparison – a predictable well-oiled machine.

All that has changed.

The turning point came just after Beanie had a run of bad days. She was lethargic, on and off her food, and getting quite wobbly on her feet. She’d been doing all the physio exercises we’d been given, but Beanie was was still deteriorating. Thanks to the heat from the new wood burning stove we’d installed in the living room, she was also looking very disheveled, with big tuffs of winter fur coat coming out all over the house. Things had gotten so bad I’d actually said to Susan “I think this could be Beanie’s last year”, and she’d confessed to having the same thoughts. Then we realized that since getting Monkey, Beanie hadn’t been getting up onto our laps and requesting regular back massages. Over the next couple of days, Susan began giving Beanie thorough back and shoulder massages each day whether the Beanster wanted it or not, and since the massage sessions made Biggles a bit jealous and woofy, he got them too.

By the the third day, the changes in the A-Team were dramatic. Beanie abruptly rediscovered her passion for humping Susan’s legs and began demanding tug play sessions; her appetite even for lowly kibble returned fully and consistently, and no unguarded cup was safe from an exploratory snout insertion. It felt like we had the naughty Beanie from five years ago back in our house, and Biggles? Well he got a full dose of renewed vigor too. Any sock that wasn’t nailed to the floor was his; he pawed open cupboards in search of sandpaper and masking tape to shred, and worst of all, he became a master bread thief.

Recently we got a little bread-maker machine to make a fresh loaf whenever we need it and without the big preparation hassle or the cost of putting the oven on. The smell of baking bread is wonderful and apparently the taste is great too, but I wouldn’t really know because Biggles beats me to it every time. It’s as though every loaf that comes out of that little machine is cursed, destined to end up in Biggles’ black hole of a gut, or at the very least have a Beagle mouth-sized chunk torn from it. In truth it’s always my fault; I open the kitchen baby gate, get distracted by something for a moment, he sneaks in and the next thing I hear is the commotion of a snatch and grab mission. It doesn’t really matter where on the worktops the bread happens to be sitting – his pogo-stick jumping ability is back at full strength and he can reach any target that’s below our head height. I hit my limit the other day and shouted at him, but any residual anger was swept away when he later had a bout of vomiting and spent several hours in the humie bed with his head on my pillow.

The Bigglet, convalescing on my pillow after a severe bread overdose.

In the midst of all this Poppy and Monkey are still doing their best to be inducted into the Naughty Hall of Fame. Monkey made a determined effort to pull down my pants yesterday while I was talking to a neighbor through the garden fence. This morning on their walk I looked round when the leads went tight and saw a writhing mass of Beagle body parts. Apparently they’d decided that now was a good time for a wrestling match, and until my eyes and brain caught up with the action I couldn’t tell which bits belonged to which Beaglet; one furry bonce was emerging from beneath someone’s tail, while another one was growing out of an armpit, and there seemed to be far too many ears and feet for only two puppies. When silliness like that happens on walks my unthinking response is to say “Oi!” to get their attention. Just for fun I counted the number of times I had to say “Oi!” until we got back home, and it turned out that was a nine-Oi walk. I then went out with the rejuvenated A-Team and we had a sixteen-Oi walk. That’s right: the youngsters were outclassed by their elders, and it’s worth noting that some of those winning “Oi!” points were awarded for high-difficulty maneuvers like pooping through the gaps in a fence into someone else’s garden and sticking one’s nose into the shopping bag of a passer-by.

Poppy and Monkey consoling each other after being out-naughtied

As I sat recovering from the walks I took pleasure at the thought that Beanie & Biggles have rediscovered their inner puppies, and that those inner puppies are still naughtier than our actual puppies. Then I had a follow-up thought: if you say “Oi!” to a Beagle often enough, will they starting thinking that’s their name?

As usual, here are a few more shots of the smaller Ois: