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:
