Remember this little gem from Futurama?

Just like Zoidberg, Monkey has been encouraging various items to surrender their mysteries to him.

The mysteries within this toy have been fully surrendered, and they were mostly white and fluffy.

Unlike Zoidberg, Monkey hasn’t even considered the possibility of fixing things after it all goes wrong.

Monkey seeks comfort from the donut beds as toy-killer’s remorse starts to bite

Thus far toys have been the main subject of Monkey’s investigations, but he is starting to branch out; the inner bits of Biggles’ bed are now the outer bits, and our clothes airer did not fare well when he had a short but intense one-to-one with it . We’ve been through all this before with Beanie and Biggles of course, but neither of them were half as good at opening cupboards, babygates and doors as Monkey. It’s scary how quickly he’s learning to do things, but perhaps his biggest achievement is the regurgitation of a fully intact dog jobby onto our lounge rug. Note that I said “fully intact” there; any Beagle can vomit up a partially digested poop (or “shitvom”, to use the correct term) but puking up a complete bottom sausage takes next-level skill, and Monkey has it.

Poppy has been developing her skills too. She’s recently discovered that she’s small enough to squeeze through some the gaps in the sheep fencing of our inner garden. I’ve been criss-crossing wires over the larger apertures to keep her out, but she’s still getting past them somehow. It’s beginning to look like there aren’t many things that can keep Poppy out!

Beanie can’t seem to decide whether she’s an old crotchety lady or a little pup who just happens to have a more subtle variant of tricolor paintwork. Her voice has been changing over the past year and now she sounds a bit like singer who’s had too many smokes and neat whiskeys, and she’s more prone to use that voice to show disapproval of other dogs. The combination of her voice and demeanour conjure up the image of an old lady hobbling around, poking things with her walking stick and saying “Nah, I don’t think much of that”. The other day I ‘d just parked up for our beach run and as I sorted out the harnesses I could see a dog and his owner playing football on the grass. Beanie could see it too, and she immediately let her disapproval be known. I coud almost hear the translation for her grumbling: “Outrageous! Look at him running around with a ball like that! He should have his balls off if you ask me! Hormones! That’s the problem.”

And yet despite all the old git grumbling she’s still a very playful little girl who enjoys a game of tug, a sprint on the beach and – more recently – a daily afternoon trip into the garden with Monkey and Poppy for a round of marrowbone rolls. This was something I started to help Beanie grow closer to the pups, and it has stuck, but really I don’t think she even notices that the pups are present – it’s all about the treat. Still it’s great to see her out there getting just as excited as the youngsters.

Well maybe Beanie doesn’t get quite as excited as Poppy!

When she’s not sleeping or pestering me to go out in the garden with Monkey and Poppy, Beanie also likes to roam the house checking up on us, to the extent that she’s earned the nickname Snoopy. Now most dogs probably get curious about what their owners are up to, but with Beanie it’s more intense than that – the snooping has an accusatory feel to it. When I see her watching me I feel I have to explain myself, as though I’ve been caught doing something slightly dodgy by a teacher.

What are you doing dad?

Disgraceful! You wouldn’t have caught me doing that when I was a pup!

I’m keeping my eye on you dad!

By comparison, Biggles has been remarkably trouble-free of late. He snuggles up to me in bed, keeps the neighbours informed about Beagle mealtimes, and regularly presents his tummy for tickling. If there was an award the most well behaved Beagle boy during the kast fortnight, he wouldn’t get it, but he just might be one of the runners up.