Last week went spectacularly well for The Bigglet! It started with him finding an almost full container of milk while offlead on the beach, and this milk wasn’t like the boring fresh stuff that we get from supermarket; it smelled gross as all milk should and had lots of chunky bits floating in it. Truly quality stuff!  The only fly in the ointment was that Beanie – who is normally responsible for working out how to open such things – wasn’t available, because she was sticking to me like glue and trying to get more than her fair share of my chicken supplies. Unlike his resourceful sister Biggles only knows two ways of getting access to things: he can scratch at them with his front paws, and he can nibble at them with his teeth. Fortunately he’s practiced these two primitive skills to such an extent that they’ve become extraordinarily effective, and so it was that very soon the container of milk had a neat hole in it big enough to accommodate the lapping action of a small-to-medium sized hound. By the time Beanie and I had jogged back to find out what he was doing, he’d had a big bloated belly full of the good stuff. Even better, when I put him back on lead and dragged him away from the milk he still got a lump of chicken to top things off.  You might be thinking “wow, life doesn’t get much better than that” but later in the week it did.

It’s his lordship’s birthday at the end of the month so one evening I took the dynamic due to our local Pets At Home store for a bit of browsing. I can always tell when other owners are about to take their woofers into that shop; the lead strains, the owner’s arm extends and the pace quickens as the dog pulls like a steam train towards the entrance. They’re going in, and nothing had better stand in their way. No doubt other dog owners were sitting in their cars chuckling as they saw me being dragged by Beanie and Biggles (mostly Biggles) and thought “Yep, I know where they’re going!” As it turned out I didn’t see any toys that were worth adding to their already extensive collection, but I did grab a couple of Biggles’ favorite cereal and tripe sticks. Actually he grabbed them and I paid for them, and I think I’ll have to get another couple for his birthday because those first two are all already nearly gone.

There was still one more stroke of good fortune to come for The Bigglet. After nearly eleven years of practice his bedmaking skills haven’t improved, and he can still be counted on to turn any moderately tidy and welcoming bed into a convoluted and uncomfortable mess. However, just as monkeys left in a room with a typewriter for long enough might eventually reproduce the works of Shakespeare, an inept Beagle boy left alone long enough with two dog beds might eventually produce something worth sleeping on. By pure chance that’s exactly what Biggles did.

Behold the luxurious double-decker bed, randomly crafted by Biggles.

And yeah, it was really, really comfy

While Biggles was on a roll, Beanie seemed a bit off her game this week. Attempted blankie self-wrappings went wrong more than once, but by far the most conspicuous sign of things not going her way was when she had a door mishap. Beanie is normally very good with doors, and can even even open the baby gates if we don’t lock them down properly at the top. One morning however I heard the unmistakable sounds of an attempted door opening going awry, and as I was otherwise engaged on the porcelain throne at the time I was unable to provide the immediate assistance that a spoiled little princess not only deserves, but demands.

An unlocked baby gate is no barrier to the Beanster..

..even if it sometimes takes two paws

.. to gain her freedom

The sequence began with a thud and a short high speed drumroll of flapping ears. “Ah, someone’s just got out of our bed and had a shake” I thought. All this was normal, but then I heard some fumbling at the partially open bedroom door followed by the sound of that door closing and the latch engaging. Oh dear. Whoever that small someone was, they’d just messed up the door opening and locked themselves into the bedroom. I leaned forward on the crapper, straining to hear how this would play out. What followed was a long period of silence as a small doggy brain came to terms with the situation, and then finally there was a single half-hearted swipe of claws on painted wood. It wasn’t a call for help so much as a pathetic admission of defeat. “That’s Biggles for sure”, I thought, but when I finally got my pants back up and went to the door, I found a slightly anxious Beanie on the other side of it.

Never mind Beanie, we all have “off” days

When Beanie wants to come in from the garden, she stands at the kitchen door and woofs; when she wants me to play with her, she grabs a toy and woofs; when there’s a hedgehog in the garden or a wasp crawling about on the floor, she woofs, but when she’s locked herself in a room and quite possibly no-one knows what’s happened, she paws the door once and then stays very, very quiet. Sometimes I just don’t get Beanie logic.

Here in Ayrshire we don’t typically get a lot of thunderstorms, but we’ve had plenty of them this last week. In the past Beanie has had a bit of a problem with loud banging noises, but this is no longer the case; in fact she’s been so confident that she’s been offering comfort to anyone or anything who needs it. During one storm she felt that my lap needed the reassurance of a Beanie bottom. As the storms continued she gave succour to our ensuite toilet. You might think that a stocky chunk of porcelain has nothing to fear from the big sky booms, but Beanie’s keen senses told her otherwise and she camped out by it, refusing to leave until the booms had stopped. She even pretended to be a little scared, just to show solidarity. That’s the thing about Beanie: she’s such a fearless and selfless little girl, always thinking of others.

When each storm ended she would hold a little celebration, and what better way to celebrate than to grab her (formerly) squeaky rabbit and roll around on the floor like a spoiled little pup. Hard to think she’s going to be 12 years old in a few months time!

Sometimes I envy my Beagles for the simple, cossetted lives they lead. Their humie slaves look after almost every aspect of their existence; pretty much all they have to do is get up, have fun, eat their food (and anything else they can get hold of) then go to sleep. The more I think about it however the more I realize that they still have a ton of questions to answer and decisions to make each day, just like the rest of us. For example:

• Are the humies sufficiently distracted for me to attempt a big slurp from their coffee mugs?
• If I run off now after this promising scent, will I have more fun than I would by pestering Dad for more chicken?
• Should I request a visit to the outside loo even though it’s pouring with rain, or just use the hall carpet?
• How many blankies can I hog before someone notices?

In this case, 3 blankies is the limit

Then of course there’s the really big question – the one that all dogs have had to face at some point in their lives, namely: when you find a dead bird, should you (a) eat it (b) pee on it or (c) roll on it?

I think we’ve found the winning option in this case.  And yes, the photos are presented in the correct sequence, so Biggles did indeed pee on it before he rolled.

Ironically on a beach walk I think it’s me that has the simplest decision to make, which is: when should I put the little monkeys back on lead?

Certainly not now.

Not yet..

Still OK

Erm.. not quite yet

Yeah, about 3 seconds ago would’ve been just right…