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.

Summer’s pretty much over now but by way of compensation it’s blackberry season once again! One of our regular walks is virtually lined by blackberry bushes and Beanie and Biggles have been honing their picking skills.

There’s berries in them there bushes!

Beanie quickly became adept at picking only the ripe, tasty berries and dodging the red immature ones, but Biggles got off to a slower start. He’d sniff and lick at them but then hit me with his “little boy lost” look, goading me into picking them for him – which being a complete muggins I of course did.

Those berries look and smell really nice..

..but The Bigglet wasn’t sure about the whole “self service” thing initially

After a few days he gained confidence and started picking his own, but it still took a while longer before he learned to go for the black ones and leave the red.

Eventually he caught up with Beanie and this point I’d have to rate them both as expert pickers – so much so that I considered hiring their services out to local farmers. Unfortunately my latest dreams of wage-earning Beagles have been scuppered due to one small but important technicality: apparently fruit pickers are not supposed to eat everything they collect.

Yep it’s that time of year when Biggles temporarily catches up with Beanie age-wise. On Tuesday he was four years old, just like his sister. As tradition demanded Beanie administered the Beagle equivalent of birthday bumps, and then I took them both for a run on the beach.

Birthday bumps.. Beagle style!

As the day progressed it became evident that the extra year on Biggles’ age had brought with it additional confidence and maturity. When Susan left her new foam roller unguarded (used for getting the kinks out of tired muscles), Biggles picked it up and carried it to his basket without a single guilty backward glance. His self-assured trot said “I’m just taking this, OK”. When Beanie tried to push him out of the basket with plushest blanket he gave her a robust humping. Obviously that wasn’t the best of decisions because she mercilessly yanked on his tail for some time afterwards. Nevertheless, it was clear that this was Biggles reborn: older, not particularly wiser, but bolder – much bolder. Oh yes, this worm had turned.. right onto his back for a tummy tickle!

Another questionable decision came when a delivery guy brought a mysterious cardboard box. Biggles had any number of ways to react to this intruder, but he chose the woofy one. Mr Delivery Guy was not phased by the noisy outburst, which was very fortunate because otherwise Biggles would have missed out on the best part part of his birthday (more on that in due course). In addition to the woofing, the afternoon passed with much napping and snoring and before long it was time for the second walk. I took them over to Troon for a rocky scramble along the shore and a game of chase hide-and-seek.

Dad, you do know it’s teatime already, right? Just saying.

Where’s that pesky sister of mine gone?

She’s around here somewhere!

She’s behind me isn’t she?

A moment of quiet contemplation before our return home..

When we got back home Beanie & Biggles took up position by the kitchen door to wait for their second meal of the day. When it finally came the usual teatime routine was observed; Biggles did a power-boing and managed to nose the bottom of his bowl even though Susan was holding it at her head height, while Beanie did her ritual “gimme the food dance”. They then raced to their serving positions and went into a sit. Beanie held her sit perfectly, her bum seemingly welded to the floor by the power of the approaching kibble. Biggles, as always, struggled to keep his rear end from lifting and wagging. The seconds dragged by until the “Take it” command was given, whereupon small chunks of Burns Alert went flying all over the hall as they dived into their bowls. This time the servings were disappointingly small, but before a protest could ensue I ushered Biggles into our posh (mostly Beagle-free) lounge to investigate the mysterious box that had arrived earlier.

The first thing to come out of the box was a brown bag held closed by a little golden paw sticker. Whatever was in there, it smelled really, really good.

Blimey, it’s a biccie with Biggles’ name written on it!

There goes the UK record for speed eating

Also inside the mystery box.. another box..

Containing an extra large Wuffin! It’s Wuffinzilla!

A while back when we’d sampled the delights of The Beagles Bakery I’d been torn between ordering personalized biscuits vs. wuffins for Biggles’ birthday. As you can see I resolved the dilemma by getting both. I have to say though that these birthday wuffins were even bigger than the ones we had before. Biggles did really well to contain himself until I gave him the order to take his wuffin, but a split-second later he pounced on it so eagerly that it virtually exploded. He was merrily hoovering up crumbs from the floor for the next five minutes!

Since the day was also Beanie’s unbirthday, she got one too.
Happy 4th Birthday Biggles, and happy unbirthday Beanie!