Biggles has always had a thing for director-style chairs; he seems to like a seat that really molds itself to his shape. Such chairs tend not to last, especially if we get lazy and leave them out in the rain once too often. I installed our last serviceable director’s chair in our new shed and he makes regular use of it on cooler days. He seems to enjoy it even more if I’m not in there; it’s become his own private little snoozing room. The clumsy, shuffling sounds that accompany him getting into the chair and getting comfy always bring a smile to my face.

On sunny days however the shed gets too hot to spend any time inside, so he just mopes around on a regular dog bed looking bored and sorry for himself, which is clearly unacceptable! In a stroke of luck Susan spotted the perfect replacement director’s chair in The Range, able to handle being left outside even on typical Scottish monsoon/heatwave/monsoon combo days. Biggles’ initial reaction to  his new chair was disappointing, but then I don’t think he’s ever really got the whole flat-pack concept.

Are you sure this it Dad?

It doesn’t really get you far off the floor does it?

OK, I’ll try it but don’t get your hopes up.

Oh the chair’s inside, you say?

OK, give me a minute to dig about in here…

Nope, it’s not looking good Dad

I mean the head rest is OK, but that’s about it.

No, still not seeing it Dad.

Oh right, yep I like it now. Just get me a chew and a bowl of water and I’m good for the afternoon.

We can leave the frame in place on the deck and it only takes a second to slip the fabric bit on or off in response to the weather. It turns out that Biggles is smart enough not to try climbing into the chair when the fabric isn’t in place, which is a good. Less good is that Beanie, who normally finds chairs like this too squishy and unstable to trust, tried the chair one time and seemed to like it. There may be noisy squabbles in our future.

By necessity Beagle owners are a pretty relaxed bunch when it comes to acts of canine misbehavior. The naughty dial that goes from 1 to 10 on regular dogs is permanently stuck at 11 for most Beagles, and you either stop being a Beagle owner or make your peace with it. It’s no big deal when a fur monster poos in or on the humie bed, slurps from a coffee cup, or comes for a cuddle then burns the nasal passages with a particularly caustic fart. Nevertheless every owner has a red line or two that should not be crossed, and as I discovered recently, one of mine is vegetable-related.

Some of the veg in our garden has been reaching the harvesting stage recently. We’ve had a batch of our own potatoes, a taste of our own broccoli, and last week we were about to sample some of our own turnips when Biggles decided to get in on the act. He watched quietly as Susan retrieved a couple of small but perfectly formed turnips and let them rest on the grass while she check for more harvestable candidates. Ever the inquisitive little boy, he trotted over to examine the newly extracted veg and work out which of the the classic three doggy actions would be most appropriate: (i) eat them, (ii) roll on them or (iii) pee on them. Options #1 and #2 were quickly eliminated by the sniff test, leaving only option #3. The rear leg was cocked and for once Biggles’ aim was dead on. We could and probably should have just washed them, but instead they ended up on the compost heap and his lordship was sent back into the house in disgrace. Elvis had a thing about his blue suede shoes; I don’t have any suede shoes, blue or otherwise, but I don’t want anyone peeing on my turnips.

A few days later the turnip wetter’s nose was put out joint by a little Magpie in our front garden. He landed unusually close to us, then came closer still, eventually perching fearlessly on our knees and even our hands. This little fellow seemed so tame we assumed he must have been someone’s pet. He caught the attention of our neighbors and pretty soon a group of of were gathered round this brave little soul, at which points howls of protest were heard coming from our lounge window. Biggles had seen the spectacle, and he didn’t like it one bit; balancing on the sofa on his rear legs, little Mr Jealous continued to give everyone a piece of his mind.

“I think you’re about to be replaced Biggles” I shouted through the window, “..because this guy’s cute and he’s never peed on anyone’s turnips!”

Then in an act of Beagle solidarity the Magpie crapped on my jogging pants, and I figured that maybe there are worse things than wet turnips. Biggles was saved from relegation once again.

Realizing the bird wouldn’t last too long in the wild, we took it to our local wildlife rescue center. They figured that it was just an overly trusting fledgling rather than a mature bird tamed by regular human contact. It’ll spend some time being schooled in the ways of the world by other Magpies before being released into the wild again. Hopefully they’ll teach it to be wary of humans, and even more wary of jealous Beagles, because Beanie & Biggles are always open to sampling new food sources :)

When we first moved to our home in Ayrshire the back garden was basically a small field with no notable features. For years we kept it that way, thinking that made it a better playground for Beanie and Biggles, and as youngsters they certainly did lots of playing in it.

I’m not exactly sure what was going on in the next photo but let’s assume it wasn’t anything weird and just move on…

Anyway, the point is that the lockdowns forced on us by the government changed our thinking about the garden, and since then we’ve been filling it with things like fruit trees, raised beds for growing our own veg, and a couple of areas where the grass can grow longer and wild meadow flowers can flourish.

Now we’ve added this thing:

..which once cut, assembled and painted turned into this:

As we planned each project I entertained the worry that we were taking valuable space away from Beanie & Biggles, but now it’s all in place I think the result is a net gain for the pups because their garden has become that much more interesting. They still have space to play – though as older Beagles they don’t do that so much unless I’m throwing a ball for them to fetch – but all these new elements have given them more places to investigate, places to hide when we’re trying to make sure that no-one has somehow gone AWOL, and places to lay poo traps.

They’ll never notice me under here. First they’ll get worried that I’m missing, then they’ll give me extra treats.

OK, so which one of us is going to chew the hose?

I just dropped one directly under Dad’s pullup frame, Beanie! He’s gonna love it when he treads on it!

There certainly have been plenty of poo traps. Both our furries have hit all the high traffic areas, causing smelly shoes and smelly wheelbarrow tyres, but I think the best work has been done by Biggles. One day to get some extra growth going in our wildflower area Susan bought some “seed bombs” – little brown nuggets of earth and seed to drop on bare patches of the lawn. We started out with 30 of them, but a few visits from The Biggly Boy we had more. I’m pretty sure Susan spent the next few days carefully watering some of his seed bombs! Regardless there should be an explosion of color over the next month or so and I’m looking forward to getting shots of the pupsters against it.

If Beanie and Biggles ever do feel the the loss of wide open garden space, they’ve still got plenty of space on our local beach. We’ve had a fantastic run of weather recently during which some pandemic lockdown restrictions were eased, but we’ve still had no problem getting large stretches of sand and sea to ourselves.

Despite having all these facilities at her disposal, Beanie regularly complains that conditions are barely adequate for a Beagle of her standing; she sometimes has to repeat her requests for a blankie and has to remind me whenever tea is running late. Susan counters these claims of hardship by saying that our two must be the luckiest, most pampered Beagles on the planet. I hope Susan’s right, because that is absolutely the way it should be for a furry princess and her pesky brother.