I cannot believe I’m writing this, I cannot believe what has happened. Our little Poppy has died. We don’t know yet know if it was her epilepsy or if something went horribly wrong with her treatment at the vet, but she’s gone.

Whenever we were going through a door or a baby gate together she would put her paw on it assertively as if to say “this one, this is the one you have to open Dad”. It became a little ritual that we always did; she’d do it with her paw and I’d say it. “This one”.

The youngsters are really growing into their roles as the new Beagle A-Team, in fact they’re doing so well it’s tempting to think they’ve been getting help; maybe the spirits of Beanie & Biggles are whispering in their big floppy ears when they’re asleep.

For example, ever since getting access to the humie bed Poppy has taken a strong liking to it, and is constantly looking for new ways to get in there when she shouldn’t be. Quite recently she’s taken to crying in her crate in the very early hours of the morning – not constantly you understand – but Beanie-style, which is to say just a little whimper here and a whimper there at seamingly random intervals, like an intermittently dripping tap.

The first time this happened I assumed Poppy wanted a pee, but the true cause was revealed the instant I opened her crate: in one impossibly swift movement she darted round me, leapt onto the bed and inserted herself into Susan’s arms. “See, I’m settled in here already so you can’t put me back in my crate now Dad!” is what the body language was saying. Well I did put her in back her crate, and when the same thing happened the next night, I was ready for it. I opened the crate just enough to let Poppy out in a slow and controlled fashion, and the second she looked like she was turning towards the bed, I shoved her right back in and bolted the door shut again. “I’ve got your number little Popster!” I said, “You can’t catch me out even at four in the morning!”. After 16 years with Beanie & Biggles, you’d think I’d know never to openly challenge a Beagle to a game of wits.

The next night/morning the whimper tap started dripping again. I know I should have ignored it, but both Susan and I really wanted our sleep, so I chose to give Poppy the benefit of the doubt. I carefully & slowly opened the crate, and Poppy emerged, showing no signs of diverting back to the humie bed. “OK, go into the hall and I’ll get the alarm off “. She trotted straight into the hall, head pointing towards the kitchen door and the route out into the garden. It took about 2 seconds to disable the alarm but when I’d done, Poppy was no longer in the hall. I knew exactly where she was. I extracted her from our bed and put her back into hers, vowing not to be caught out again.

The next night the Poppy alarm clock went off a bit earlier and although I was even more bleary eyed, I knew what to do.

Step 1: stub right big toe on door and curse as quietly as possble even though it really hurt.

Step 2: disable the alarm, open the kitchen door and baby gate so that there’d be no pause or opportunity for distraction on our way to the garden.

Step 3: stand by the crate and very quietly tell Poppy: “this had better be a real pee request, or you’re going back to the puppy shop you naughty little git”.

Step 4: open crate and track Poppy very carefully, muscles sprung and ready to catch the pesky little varmint if she doubles back.

Poppy headed out of her crate with an urgent trot, making a beeline for the kitchen. Clearly this was the real deal; she geniuinely wanted to use the outdoor facilities. I made a mental note to put more effort into making sure she gets final pee before bed in future, but at least this current interruption in my sleep wasn’t frivolous. “Good girl” I told her, “we’ll soon have you in that garden”. I relaxed out of my ready-to-respond state and the instant I did so, without even looking round at me, Poppy sensed it, did a 180 faster than a frightened rat and flew into the humie bed.

I am going to win this. I just need a bit more time and practice. And perhaps an uninterrupted night’s sleep.

Monkey has clearly been receiving messages from Biggles. I’ve caught him sneeking into our wardrobe and making a bed in there several times now – just like his mentor – and he’s been nicking items of clothing and parading them proudly around the house. Biggles has made it clear that socks are off the table as they’ve always been so clearly a Biggly thing, so Monkey is focusing on gloves. Actually it would be more correct to use the general term “hand-coverings”, as he seems equally partial to mittens. Regardless, it’s lovely once again to hear the scampering of a little Beagle boy who’s excited about his latest acquisition.

Monkey is not the kind of boy to look a gift horse in the mouth, in fact I can’t recall a single occasion when he looked at any kind of horse in the mouth; he typically lowers his head, avoids eye contact and heads to the safer side of my legs when we encounter an equine. This is sensible; Monkeycide can happen at any time but it’s especially likely when there’s half a ton of metal-shoe-wearing monster in close proximity. At the same time, Monkey is well aware that as a Beagle he should always be ready to seize opportunities that could lead to food. These two guiding principles  – avoidance of danger and acquisition of food – can be and often are in opposition. That’s why, when I gave the Monkster his first ever taste of blueberries, I was unwittingly plunging him into a most terrible dilemma.

I had four blueberries in my hand, and I offered the first one to Poppy. She took it politely but without hesitation, and quickly set about eating it on the spot. I offered the next one to Monkey, who cautiously took it in his mouth, but then immediately trotted down off the deck to the patio below. Back in the day Beanie & Biggles would routinely sprint off to their own separate spots in the garden on receipt of a treat, so I figured the Monkster was doing the same.  It was only when I gave Poppy her second blueberry and offered Monkey his, that I saw signs of the internal conflict that was raging inside his big furry head.

Monkey had taken that first blueberry but hadn’t yet consumed it; having faced the daily threat of Monkeycide for over two years, he’s learned to treat all new food items with suspicion. Only when a potential consumable has been analysed using the most rigorous, evidence-based scientific methods can it be chewed and swallowed. (Note for any budding canine scientists: the currently preferred analytical methods involve throwing the item up in the air, pouncing on  it where it lands, and rollling on it several times. In some cases the need for laying down and woofing at the item may also be indicated).

Just as he was about to begin examination of his blueberry on the patio, I offered him another, and things suddenly got very complicated. Should he skip the scientific process and gulp down an untested food item, leaving him free to acquire the second one, or should he risk losing that second blueberry opportunity in order to carry out his tests with due diligence? He vacillated, looking to the blueberry in my hand, then to the one at his feet, then to Poppy who was downing her second blueberry with gusto and apparently without ill effects.

Monkey wrestled with his indecision a moment longer before arriving at a risky compromise: he would leave his existing blueberry uneaten and unguarded, run to me to receive the second one, and then hopefully get back to his temporary patio laboratory to analyse both the blueberries together. I could see each thought echoed on his expressive face and did my best to help by bringing the second blueberry to him. In short order he had both of them on the ground by his feet, but he’d never conducted an examination on two things in one session, and certainly not under time pressure; Poppy was heading down to him and no doubt intended to score his berries.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to intervene to prevent Biggles from losing out to Beanie, and Monkey seems to have the same level of gormlessness. I reached down, picked up both blueberries just before Poppy reached them, and put one of them straight into the path of Monkey’s chewing gear. He was a little surprised, but then he just chomped and swallowed, happily accepting the second one. I’m not saying that evidence based Beagle science doesn’t have its place,  but when there’s food at your feet and a hungry girly is closing in, sometimes it’s best just to shovel it into your gob and worry about Monkeycide later.

To finish, here are some more shots from the last couple of weeks: