I’ve taken the pups to our local beach three times a week, most weeks, for the last ten years. That’s around 7500 – 8000 beach miles we’ve done together! A lot of those runs involved some offlead fun, indeed some of them featured AWOL incidents that resulted in much more offlead fun than I ever intended, but together they’ve made a huge contribution to the quality of life that Beanie and Biggles have enjoyed. The lockdown rules have now put a stop to that, and runs with me on local roads have met with declining enthusiasm. By way of compensation, a sustained improvement in the weather has put garden play sessions back on the menu. I’m happy to report that these *have* met with furry approval, especially when edibles have been involved.

Wait a minute! Is his cow ear bigger than mine?!!

Well you know what they say: chew now, beat your brother up later!

More fun could be on the way when Susan’s horticultural experiments are moved from their little indoor pots into the back garden, where they’ll suddenly be within reach of the Beaglets. If all goes well we should have carrots, lettuce, radishes and potatoes later this year.

To my untrained eyes it seems that most vegetable things looks like cress when they’re starting to grow, in much the same way that all new babies look like Winston Churchill.

This apparently is going to be a courgette when it grows up. If I hadn’t been told, there’s no way I’d have guessed.

One thing I do know for sure is that there’ll be a smacked Beagle bottom if the owner of said bottom chooses to do a bit of unsanctioned digging or nibbling.

Would that innocent little boy rip up our crop of veg? Socks are the natural prey of The Bigglet, but forbidden items have a powerful allure of their own.

We’ve just completed our first day under the new, tougher measures intended to slow the spread of SARS-CoV-2 and we’ve found it strangely calming.

For some weeks now we’ve felt very at odds with the general public’s attitude to the virus.  On dog walks I’ve gone out of my way to avoid contact with others, while they’ve been happy stop and chat to one another in close proximity, seemingly oblivious to the risk of infection. In my fitness photography business I’ve had to bite back the urge to contradict prospective clients when they’ve been saying “Why would the gyms close? This coronavirus thing isn’t even as bad as regular flu.” When the government’s advice got stronger but people still didn’t seem to be changing their habits we knew tougher measures were coming, and I was very concerned that we might end up losing the right to walk Beanie and Biggles entirely.

If Biggles could sense any tension from me, he didn’t show it. As long as he got his food on time, could ram his furry bottom into my face when making a bed next to me on the sofa, and was still able to trade socks for treats, all was right in his world.

Beanie however clearly picked up on my worries and began following me around like a velcro dog.  Any time I left the room, she had to keep tabs on me. When I returned from an unavoidable trip to the local shop for milk, she danced round me as though I’d been gone for days. Any time Susan stretched out on the sofa for a nap, Beanie would mount her legs for a stress-relieving and highly vigorous humping session. The only time my little girl could properly relax was when the whole pack was together in the living room.

Now the “lockdown” has happened and the rules have been spelled out, all that has changed. Dog walks are still on the menu, and Beanie and Biggles can still enjoy two each day, so long as I do one while Susan does the other. I took the furries out for their first constitutional this morning. Just as we were setting out we encountered a neighbor returning from their walk; I automatically moved to the extreme opposite side of the street, and for the first time they did the same, allowing us to pass each other whilst staying well over the recommended 2 metres apart.

I took the pups along country roads that I know to be very, very quiet; ordinarily I could do that same walk every day for a month and barely meet another soul. Today – ironically due to the lockdown rules – I encountered several other walkers and cyclists, but they all knew to keep to their side of the road. I’m not wild about having our freedom curtailed like this, but it’s a big relief to me that everyone finally seems to be taking the threat seriously. As I’ve relaxed, so has The Beanster. She’s still humping Susan’s legs of course, but now the rumpy-pumpy is less desperate and no longer resembles a scene from an extreme porn flick.

All we need now is for the supermarkets to get their acts together, implement social distancing policies and stock the shelves, and maybe we can get through this thing without getting infected. I just hope they do that soon, because our supply of bone-shaped biccies isn’t going to last forever.

Waddya mean the biccies are running out! Get to the shops now Dad, this is an emergency!

Biggles’ Teddy, horribly injured in an uncontrolled nibbling accident.

A bear, barely alive!

We can rebuild him.

We have the technology.

We can make him better than he was.

Better! Stronger! Squeakier!

We can make him the world’s first bionic ten-squeakered teddy!

Just take care of him Biggles, and make sure that Beanie doesn’t get hold of him!!!