If only…

I read a comment on a forum somewhere to the effect that dogs have no sense of propriety when it comes to taking a dump outside. With our Beagles, that is most definitely NOT the case. They are acutely aware of when and where it would be most improper, inconvenient or embarrassing to do a “squatting hunchback” impersonation, and it is exactly in those situations that they insist on doing it.

Beanie is very much an in-your-face rebellious pooper. Quite often when we’re on our beach run I’ll take us out on the sand but return via the grassy dunes that border a golf course. We get very close to golfers in places, and it’s usually at these times that Beanie decides to do a very protracted and conspicuous poo. While she’s squatting we usually get some disdainful looks from the golfers (even though we’re on a public right-of-way) and all the while we’re there, there’s the possibility of one of us, probably me, getting hit by an errant ball. When she’s finished and I’m in the process of bagging her poo she insists on a particularly blatant scuffing of the grass with her rear legs, covering me in sand & grass and earning another look of displeasure from the golfers. Nice, thanks Beanie.

She can also be a bit of a pain when we’re rushing to take her on a car journey. She waits until we’re almost ready to go, then begs to be let out to the garden for an urgent appointment with the grass throne. At any other time such duties are concluded quickly and efficiently, but when we’re waiting for her, she takes.. ages.. Now I know you what you’re thinking: it’s just the old “watched kettle never boils” thing. It isn’t. She genuinely and I’m sure deliberately takes at least twice the normal length of time; and if she thinks she has an audience, she takes even longer. First there’s the painstakingly slow hunt for the right spot. I swear to you NASA takes less time over choosing a new astronaut than Beanie takes to choose her drop zone. Then she teases us by starting to squat but abruptly changing her mind to go off on some random sniffage. Even when she’s finally done the deed, she really takes her time about coming back in. We could of course hasten her return by offering a treat, but I suspect that could make things worse!

Beanie’s pooing habits might be annoying but at least they’re not particularly dangerous. Her brother Biggles on the other hand is a daredevil dumper, an adrenaline junkie who likes nothing more than dropping one while we’re crossing a busy road. More of than not he hunches and squats just as we reach the center line, and it’s “all eyes down for a full house”. Dragging him doesn’t help; he just digs in his feet and continues depositing. How exactly am I meant to scoop up his droppings into those notoriously fiddly little bags before the next car comes along and squishes us?!!

Yep, sometimes I really wish our two would learn to use a human toilet like the rest of us. I’d even let them run off with the loo roll afterwards, as a reward.

Most of the time Beanie & Biggles have clearly defined roles: Beanie handles drinking from unguarded cups, harassing people for food and instantly grabbing anything that falls on the floor; the Bigglet takes care of cuddles, socks and nicking things from tables and work surfaces. Sometimes however they like to swap some of their responsibilities, just to keep us on our toes.

Right now it’s Mr Biggles who’s the master of cups, but he doesn’t just drink from them like Beanie; he actually picks them up and takes them to his lair for a really thorough emptying and cleaning. This is no small achievement given that cups are designed to be held in human hands rather than Beagle jaws, but he manages it nonetheless.

When he’s finished with a cup, it’s truly spotless. It almost seems redundant to recover it from the corridor (or his bed) and put it in the dishwasher, but given that our two are due for a worming in a couple of weeks, it’s probably a good thing that we do.

Unfortunately Biggles’ new responsibilities don’t stop at cups, and Susan’s entirely to blame for this one. One morning she let him have a bit of scrambled egg and toast from her breakfast plate, and now it’s developed into a habit. The moment she gets up and goes anywhere near the kitchen he follows her with a hopeful look on his face and a slow but steady wag in his rear end. If he hasn’t yet been let out of his crate he whines and bangs on the door, fearing that he’s missing his chance of another taste of human breakfast. This is particularly problematic for me because Susan’s currently having intermittent pain from a training injury and gets up very, very early in the morning to foam roll and medicate. Regardless of the time, when she gets up and leaves the bedroom, his Biggleship has to follow or there’s trouble.

As for Beanie, well she’s become much more cuddly. I don’t know if it’s a hangover from the scary fireworks on Bonfire Night, but quite often now she’ll jump onto my lap and allow me to cuddle her. She still faces away from me as though to preserve some element of separation from the lower classes, but I can cuddle her, mess with her ears and even kiss her on the cheek without causing her to scarper. She’s even become a little more biddable and polite when treats are being handed out.

There’s been no swapping of roles when it comes to play time however. Beanie still likes a good rough-housing session with her rabbit-skin tugger, while Biggles prefers a gentler style of play with the Monkey toy I got him for his birthday. Monkey started out with 8 squeakers and after two months of play six of them are still fully operational. He wouldn’t have lasted a day with Beanie, but I’m always careful to keep him out of Beanie’s destructive jaws when Biggles has finished playing with him.

Beanie in action with her tugger.

It used to be covered in rabbit fur, but that was ripped out within the first couple of minutes!

Biggles gets to grips with Monkey. Despite appearances, his play sessions are much less physical than Beanie’s.

Like most people of her time, Queen Elizabeth I wasn’t big on regular bathing. Like most contemporary Beagles, Princess Beanie is even less keen on bath time; in fact the last time she and Biggles had a proper all-over wash was two years ago.

Nevertheless, the Beanster has recently developed an obsession with getting into the bath. Don’t go thinking this indicates a sudden desire to smell of something other than poo and dead things however! Nope, this has nothing to do with cleanliness, and everything to do with cocoa. You see Susan often likes a cup of hot chocolate with her post-training bath; sometimes (well, pretty often it turns out) she leaves the mostly drained mug on the ledge of the bathtub, where it’s just begging for Beagle attention.

Traditionally something about the shape of the bath or its association with a good scrubbing has kept Beanie from tapping this sugary food source, but not anymore! A few days ago we heard scrabbling followed by a thud, followed by lapping, and discovered Beanie in the bath with her snout in Susan’s cocoa mug. Since then Beanie has apparently honed her technique for bath entry because there’s no longer any scrabbling noise; it’s just “thud” and “lap-lap-lap”, but still neither of us has actually seen her getting in there.

This weekend I decided to remedy this. Some time after Susan’s bath I opened the bedroom door, got my camera, and camped out on the loo seat to see what would transpire. As it happened, I didn’t have long to wait before our floppy-eared cocoa hunter made an appearance..

Beanie’s entry was certainly confident if not particularly elegant

There was still some foam and water on the bath floor which made the going slippy, but this didn’t deter the intrepid Beanster

She paused briefly above the mug for sniffs, like a wine expert checking out the “nose” of a fine vintage

Then the snout went in and the lapping started.

I think my presence was cramping Beanie’s style a bit; as I took more photos the lapping grew more hurried and the mug fell off the ledge and into the bath. The remaining cocoa mixed with the bath foam, but apparently this did nothing to lessen its desirability.

Eventually all the lapping that was to be done had been done, and we came to the bit that Beanie hasn’t quite worked out yet: exiting the bath without human assistance.

Whoa, that looks a bit tricky!

Er Dad, a little help please!