11 on the gross-o-meter

Posted on March 15, 2010 by Paul

Last week was one long, disgusting Beagle gross-out.

Biggles kicked things off by vomiting a pile of partially digested poo on our hall carpet. Known by more experienced Beagle owners as sh*tvom, this putrescent powerhouse took nearly half a bottle of “Wash and get off” to remove. Later the same day, Beanie decided to take a dump right in the middle of her heelwork-to-music class.

Mid-week, a pile of dirty washing was raided and a pair of pants was subsequently found to be lacking a crotch.

As the week drew to a close, Biggles nabbed a bag of donuts intended for the guys working on our garden. He managed to consume two of them (and by consume I mean basically swallow whole, one after the other) while Beanie got one. There’s no denying that two young Beagles can be a handful at times, but two young Beagles on a sugar high is something else! In a desperate bid to keep our house and our sanity intact, I bundled them into the car and drove off to the beach, hoping that a long walk would burn the sugar off.

When I got there I decided against walking on the beach itself, because the sea washes in a lot of junk and in their hyper state Beanie & Biggles would have grabbed and eaten just about anything. Instead I took them along the grassy embankment that borders the beach. At first it seemed like I’d made the right decision; all I had to contend with up there was frenzied lead tangling and the occasional attempt to roll in something nasty. Then I saw Beanie’s head all but disappear down a hole, while her bum stuck straight up in the air. When she emerged, she’d got something – there seemed to be some string dangling from the corner of her mouth. I opened her mouth, tugged on the string and became the not-so-proud owner of a used tampon. Lovely. Suddenly the sh*tvom didn’t seem so bad.

Once I’d got over the shock I attempted to hurl my unwanted catch into the bushes, but the wind caught it and carried it to within a couple of feet of where Biggles was. Ordinarily Biggles is pretty slow to react to something landing near him, or even on him, but sugar-powered Biggles was much sharper and he pounced on the tampon immediately. I got a firm hold of him, opened his mouth and just managed to grab the tail end of the string before the whole package headed south to join the donuts. I washed my hands pretty thoroughly after that walk, I can tell you.

Happily things went more smoothly over the weekend. Bundy joined us at flyball and did amazingly well, as you’ll see from the photos and video clips below. Just one more Beagle and the Lomond Flyball Club could have the UK’s first all-Beagle flyball team. It wouldn’t win any prizes, but it would certainly be entertaining to watch!

Bundy’s first ever flyball run

A couple of runs later and she’s got it!

Biggles’ steering was a bit wonky last week

This week, he’s like a harassed shopper; gets all the way to the store then forgets what he came for

Beanie has trouble when the ball gets stuck in the box

But a couple of rounds later she’s flying!

Some of the pics. First Beanie in full flight:

Biggles:

Bundy:

Click here to see the full set of pics and videos from Sunday’s flyball session.

Cabin Fever

Posted on March 7, 2010 by Paul

We’re now almost two weeks into the work on our garden. Everything is progressing well – despite the workers having to contend with frozen earth each morning then soft mud when it warms up – but Beanie & Biggles are getting a little stir crazy. In fact you could say they’re howling mad.

They’re getting plenty of long walks on the beach, and they’ve even had an off-lead run around with their pal Bundy, but none of this seems to be adequate compensation for the temporary loss of their garden. In a bid to ease their frustration we’ve cordoned off an area unaffected by the ongoing work, and we take them in there once the workmen have packed up for the day.

Still, it’s just not the same as having their full-sized playground on tap morning, noon and night. Yesterday Biggles tried to remedy this by forcing his way through the barrier, but his escape attempt was short-lived. He got to have a sniff and a little dig at the drainage trenches…

But Susan quickly got Beanie on lead and and like a moth drawn to the flame, Biggles just had to go taunt his sister. Once he got close enough he was nabbed – first by Beanie, then by Susan. Game over!

There’s at least a week to go, maybe two, before the work is complete. Until then I guess we’ll just have to accept that our two may be at each other’s throats from time to time.

There could be punchups..

And we’ll have to keep a close eye on the “corridor of doom”. This is the quiet, secluded part of our hall that Biggles uses for his most intensive frustration-fueled chewing sessions. Anything he gets, be it a sock, the mail, or the roller from our Paint Pod, ends up down there. Fortunately for us, Beanie is a tattletale and regularly exposes her brother’s naughty deeds with a distinctive “Mum! Dad! He’s at it again!” woof.

Recently though, poor Beanie has had to pay a high price for betrayal of the Bigglet. When he’s feeling especially naughty he grabs the bed in her basket and drags the whole thing (with Beanie still in it!!!!) down the corridor. I’ve tried to catch him doing this on video several times because it’s an impressive feat, but as soon as I poke my head into the hall he freezes, with his eyes fixed on mine and the bed still between his teeth. He stays like this – motionless – until I tell him to leave Beanie’s basket alone, which he does, but only until I turn my back. I don’t know what’s going on in his head; maybe he thinks that if he’s not moving, I can’t see him.

Beanie’s bed takes a walk down the Corridor of Doom once more

The look says it all: Brothers! What can you do with ’em!

Invasion of the Tree Snatchers

Posted on February 24, 2010 by Paul

It started just like a normal Monday. Beanie & Biggles had a little snuggle in bed then went out into the garden to perform their morning duties. The cows were out but our two generously decided to spare them the pain of a severe woofing, and instead just sat on their bums and watched quietly.

Back inside – just as Dad was preparing to take them on their morning walk – Biggles sounded the alarm. Something big had pulled into the drive, and now intruders were entering the garden through the top gate. He woofed loudly to alert the household, but nobody seemed to take any notice. Nobody except Beanie that is; she joined in the woof-fest, but still Mum and Dad just carried on as normal. The Bigglet had almost worn out his woofer by the time he and his sister were loaded into the car for a long walk on the beach.

On their return, the intruders were still on site and there was lots of noise coming from just outside the house. Try as they might Beanie & Biggles couldn’t get a proper vantage point to see was going on, and no-one would let them into the garden. It was all very frustrating!

Our little boy so wanted to defend his home, but his paws were tied; the humies kept him confined to the house. Eventually he just gave up and left it all to fate. What’s the point in trying to save the world if the world doesn’t want to be saved?

Beanie eased her stress with a vigorous humping of her Mum’s leg. If the apocalypse was coming, why not “check out” with an extended rumpy-pumpy session?

The hours dragged by and eventually the intruders packed up and went home. Finally Beanie and Biggles were allowed out to inspect the devastation! All the trees had gone, there was a deep trench running down one side of the garden, and a huge yellow thing was sitting close to the house.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. The kibble fairy had paid a visit to their kennel (which strangely had moved on to the deck) and the remnants of the trees made for some quality chewing:

There was nothing the dynamic duo could do to restore their garden to its former state, but Biggles was determined to exact his revenge. He went right up to the big yellow thing, cocked his leg high and gave it the pee of the century. The following morning when the intruders returned, their yellow monster wouldn’t start. They kept mumbling something about the cold having broken it, unaware of the true cause: death by Biggle piddle.