Every so often Beanie and Biggles do things that challenge my ideas about how smart (or dumb) they really are. Just recently they’ve nudged me in the “they’re smarter than  I thought” direction, because they’ve been misuing established signals to get their wicked little ways.

Like most Beagle girls, Beanie appreciates having plenty of room to herself in the humie bed on a morning. In the past she’s been able to secure this space by digging her claws into inconveniently-placed humie body parts, but lately the humies have shown an increased tolerance for Beagle acupressure. As a workaround she’s switched tactics and is now using (abusing) the long established pitter-patter signal to get the personal space she craves. Only people who have hard floor surfaces will likely know what I mean when I refer to “pitter-patter” – it’s the sound made when a little Beagle does the potty dance on laminate flooring to indicate a pressing need for the outside loo. It sounds quiet and subtle, but in practice those nails alternately tapping on wood is impossible to ignore; like a dripping tap it breaks through sleep, conversation, and even the deepest levels of concentration. More to the point, it’s enough to make a humie get out of bed, turn off the alarm and open the door to the garden. While this is happening, the smart Beagle can use her superior agility and speed to run round the humie, sprint back to the bedroom and claim a disproportionately large chunk of bed real-estate. To me, this is the kind of problem-solving I’ve had to employ far too often during my work as a software engineer; when Microsoft doesn’t give you the tools you need to accomplish a task directly, you find ways to use/abuse the tools you do have to get the desired effect.

Similarly Biggles has also adapted his “I need the loo” signals to get other things. He has two signalling methods, the first and most common being pawing of the metal baby gate at the entrance to the kitchen. In recent weeks he’s been using the paw-the-gate signal not for loo visits, but to draw attention to his latest sock acquisitions. In Biggles’ world, socks are the only hard currency; they can be exchanged for goods and services (OK mainly goods – specifically biccies) and when scampering into the living room with a sock flapping in your gob doesn’t get the desired result, well, you have to find another way. And so he has.

The second signal is a woof. I know what you’re thinking – there’s nothing special here; all dogs will woof to get something – but I’m talking about a very particular woof. It’s a single vocalization – a word not a phrase – and has a certain urgency in its delivery that leaves you in no doubt about the meaning: “Get me to a patch of grass now unless you like it messy and wet!”. I first heard it on a long car journey and trust me, no dog-to-English translation was necessary. Until recently it had been reserved solely for emergency pee situations, but now it’s being used get emergency access to the warm humie bed. The woof is issued, the crate opens, and while I open the way to the back door, he leaps into bed for a snuggle. It’s a bit naughty, but hey, it works.

When we originally got the crazy idea of having not one but two Beagles we imagined it would be like all those lovely videos on Youtube, where they’re always falling asleep top of one another in a snuggly puppy pile.  The reality for us was very different. There were never any snugglefests, in fact looking back at those early times I would say that at best Beanie tolerated The Bigglet, seeing him mainly as competition for attention and treats. I’m convinced that she deliberately tried to lose him on early offlead adventures; on one occasion she actually succeeded, using her superior turn of speed to leave him stranded and helpless in a remote corner of what was then our local park. She came trotting back to us alone and happy, expecting a double helping of treats now her bothersome little brother was out of the picture! Thank goodness we’d invested in a GPS collar for him, otherwise that day could have ended very differently. When Biggles got a little older and his get-away-with-anything puppy license expired, Beanie even went through a short but horrible phase of bullying him so badly that we needed the help of a behaviorist to restore order.

Through out all this, Biggles has always doted on Beanie. To him, she’s always been the best, most exciting sister in the world ever, even if she can be scary sometimes. Happily their relationship has become far less one-way over time; the two of them are now a tight-knit team. This is particularly evident in the “we want more treats” ritual that occurs some evenings. It’s the warped result of our longstanding habit of rewarding them whenever they have a wrestling / roughhousing session that doesn’t get out of hand. When both tummies are rumbling, an agreed play fight kicks off; this stops abruptly after about a minute, at which point both participants turn to face me in unison, wagging furiously in the expectation that treats are coming. If those treats don’t appear, our furry Laurel & Hardy look at each other and agree to go for round two, again halting the performance and looking to me when payment is due. That’s teamwork. The other day, Beanie even came to enlist my help when Biggles got himself shut in our office. He’s the kind of silly boy that often gets himself into little predicaments like that, and it’s great that his big sister is now willing to help him out of them.

That’s not to say that Beanie’s little jealous belly doesn’t still make its presence felt, but these days her brother is rarely the target, in fact last week it was – of all things – a Foxhound who found himself on the receiving end. We were on the offlead part of a beach run when I spotted him: a Beagle look-alike hound that had grown tall enough to play basketball. I called Beanie and Biggles back to me as I always do when we see another dog, doing my best to project my voice in a way that is authoritative yet cheerful. I must have done a good job, because Beanie and Biggles instantly aborted their current sniffing projects and came running towards me. In fact I must have done a really, really good job because when I dished out the “blimey the recall actually worked this time” treats, I found three Beagle-like mouths ready and waiting to receive instead of the usual two, one of them belonging to the out-sized, basketball playing pseudo Beagle.  Before I could react, Princess Beanie of SpoiledBratLand decide that this interloper needed to be repulsed lest he gain access to the home team’s treats. I should point out that Beanie is on the small side compared to most other Beagles we meet – she was the smallest surviving pup in her litter and never really recovered – but next to this Foxhound she was an significant titch. That size difference didn’t stop her speaking her mind though, and the Foxhound didn’t want any of it. Beanie gave chase for a couple of yards then returned, while I watched the fleeing hound in amazement. I looked down at The Bigglet to gauge what he was thinking about all of this, and I figured it was something like this: “Yep, that’s what happens if you mess with my sister. She’s the best. By the way dad, have you got any more of those hotdog slices?”

Classic symptoms of being a teenager include:

• spending most of the morning in bed
• low impulse control and a lack of frustration tolerance
• an insatiable appetite
• recoiling from signs of affection from parents
• defiance and boundary-testing

Going by that list Beanie has spent her whole life behaving like a teenager, and now at the grand old age of 13, she really is one. On the morning of her birthday I had to pull the covers off our bed to get her up, and then – just as I was about to get her into her into the van to go on her special walk – she decided that she absolutely had to go into the garden for an extended toilet and sniff session. When we finally got going I heard complaints about the bed in her travel crate, and when we parked up there were more complaints that I hadn’t opened up the van fast enough. Happily the walk itself did meet the standard required by our spoiled little madam; I took her and The Bigglet on a figure-of-eight loop round the paths at Ayr Gorge to make it more of an event, and on the journey home I was rewarded by contented snores and dream woofs.

Ayr Gorge is a relatively short drive away from our home, but after months of strictly local walks necessitated by the covid situation it must have felt like trip to an exotic foreign land for the pups. Brand new sniffs at every turn, lots of nooks and crannies to investigate, and scarcely anyone else in sight.

Intense napping sessions normally follow the post-walk meal, but there’s no time for napping when individual birthday cakes have to be speed-swallowed and presents must be opened.

Two seconds later and only the crumbs remained (not that they remained for long)

Beanie is hardly short of toys, but when I saw this soft log loaded with squeaky squirrels I knew it would be a hit.

Apparently many dogs enjoy picking the squirrels out of the log. At first Beanie barely noticed them, being much more intent on sticking her snout right down the central hole of the log for a power-sniff. It was only later that her attention turned to the squirrels, at which point she paraded them round the room like the overgrown pup that she is.

As tradition demands (and Beagle law requires under the “if one puppy gets” rule) , Biggles also got his own unbirthday present, although I’m not sure it was on his personal wish-list.

I guess that’s what little boys get when they think it’s fun to leave their poos all over the patio and the deck, or when they get into bed and position their bum-hole right under my nose before letting rip.

I’m only joking of course; he actually got a couple of new filled hooves and spent most of the day happily munching on them all over the house. That said, if the patio pooping and gas leaks continue, I reckon I can find somewhere to put that cork.

To finish, here’s a few more shots of the birthday girl with her latest indulgence: