Towards the end of last week we got the irrestible urge for a mini-holiday somewhere. After considerable browsing, Loch Awe seemed to be just the ticket: promising weather forecasts for that area, beautiful surroundings, a castle to explore, and access to the West Highland Way for more adventurous walks. Neither of us felt like turning it into a major expedition by taking the caravan, so we looked into other options. Tent? Not really warm enough yet. Room in a dog-friendly inn? Too costly. However, in between those two extremes sat a whole range of cabin options, from small and basic “hobbit huts” through to deluxe “wigwams” filled with all the mod cons. I rather fancied the idea of a hobbit hut; after all, half of our party are short and have furry feet. Unfortunately prices, availability and no-dog restrictions ruled out the hobbit solution this time around, but we did manage to book a mid-range “hiker hut” for a couple of days that sounded like a great alternative.

The term “hiker hut” suggests a walking party traveling light, with only the bare essentials stuffed into their backpacks. We tried to pack light, but somehow still ended up trying to cram almost the entire contents of our caravan into the car and unsurprisingly some things didn’t fit. Obviously we couldn’t leave out food or clothing, or treats, so we ended up ditching Beanie & Biggles’ fabric crates. It seemed like a good solution; the crates take up a lot of room and the only negative would be somewhat cramped sleeping arrangements (we were hoping Beanie & Biggles wouldn’t expect us to sleep on a mat on the floor).

Leaving the crates behind was of course a stupid idea, which became increasingly apparent when we arrived at the campsite. It transpired that we’d been given a free upgrade to a larger hut, one that came equipped with an integral loo, a fridge and a TV. This was great news, but there was a down-side; the person who’d taken the booking had mistakenly given us accommodation that was meant to stay pet-free. None of this was our fault; we’d been open and honest about having dogs. Admittedly there may have been a bit of wishful thinking when we answered the “are they well behaved” question, but nobody’s perfect.

“Oh well, just keep them off the bed, eh?” said the receptionist.

“No problem, we’ve got crates for them.” I lied, trying my best to sound convincing. Bugger. Strike one for the ‘no crate’ idea.

Once in the hut, the first thing Beanie & Biggles did of course was to jump onto the beds. Fortunately the front of our abode wasn’t particularly overlooked, and by closing the curtains a little we figured that the chances of being discovered with dogs on the beds would be pretty low. Unless that is Biggles felt the need to draw attention to himself by woofing at anyone who had the cheek to walk around his campsite. What were the chances of that? How about somewhere between 99 and 100%.

The camp commandant starts his vigil. Woofer at the ready!

Another drawback to the no-crate approach was that while the hut had a TV, a fridge, a microwave and an en-suite crapper, it had absolutely no cupboards. That’s right. We’d have two unrestrained Beagles with us while we slept, with no solid barrier between them and our food supplies. We mostly solved that problem by piling up our supplies at the back of the upper bunk and removing the stepladder. With all the immediate problems solved, we headed out to Loch Awe to check out Kilchurn Castle.

The castle sits on a little rocky peninsula at one end of the loch. Unlike many of the so-called castles in Scotland that are really only stately homes with turrets, Kilchurn at least looks like it it was built to withstand a bit of abuse. But could it stand up to a pair of Beagles? There was only one way to find out..

The inspection begins..

The gates and grills leave enough space for Beagle heads to poke through!

The stairs are quite hard work for those with short furry legs…

But it’s easy to keep an eye on the ground floor!

In most respects Kilchurn met with Beagle approval, but it fell down badly when it came to the windows. A properly positioned window should be low enough to allow easy viewing by territorial Beagle boys, so that any trespasses by neighbors and postmen can quickly be spotted and punished by a righteous woofing. By way of example, this is how a window should be…

And here’s Kilchurn’s poorly designed equivalent:

See the problem? The assistance of a human is required for proper viewing, and furthermore there’s only room for one Beagle at a time, which means a queue quickly forms. Admittedly things get better on the top floor, but only because lightning blew off the top of the turret many years ago!

Now this is more like it. No postmen sighted so far…

Eventually Kilchurn was given Beagle approval, and we retired to our little campsite kennel. I wanted to head off super early the next morning to photograph the loch before and during sunrise, so it was crucial for me to get as much sleep as possible. I took the little side bed, thinking I’d be able to sleep undisturbed and slip away quietly in the middle of the night while Susan and the Beagles snoozed in the main bed.  It was a good plan but it didn’t go smoothly. It took me ages to get to sleep and when I did, I was soon awoken by a wet nose. The nose in question wasn’t mine of course; it was Beanie’s. Apparently dissatisfied with the big bed, she’d decided to try mine. There wasn’t much room, but I did my best to accommodate her, and as a thank you she tucked her head under my chin (it made a change from the bum end I usually get). However, just as I was nodding off again Beanie decided that the big bed was best after all. Her departure disturbed me a little, but not as much as her noisy attempt at bed-making when she returned to Susan. Round and round she went, whining with frustration as she failed to get the cover and bed sheet just right. By the time my alarm went off I’d had maybe three hours’ kip and my back was stiff and sore from having contorted myself around the Beanster. Things would have gone a lot better if we’d had the crates! Nevertheless I got some good shots of the loch in early morning light, and a few from nearby St Conan’s Kirk…

Later that day that four of us went for a long stroll along the West Highland Way. This was very popular with the pups, not least because we encountered a deposit of human poo. Some walker had obviously felt the urge and squatted right there on the path but then, not wanting to appear ill mannered and thoughtless, they’d covered their droppings with neatly folded sheets of toilet paper, and arranged a little circle of stones around the paper to hold it down. In effect they’d made a little poo shrine, and while I had some appreciation for the effort they’d expended in creating it, I couldn’t help thinking how much less hassle it would have been to just take a few steps off the path and conduct their business amongst the foliage. Less hassle for them, and as I struggled to pull Beanie’s snout out from under the toilet paper, less hassle for me. That’s Beanie’s third sampling of human poo, and I think she’s getting a taste for it.

Beanie claims a sunny spot on the floor and dreams of human poo…

The final day was all about getting packed up and erasing any evidence that Beanie & Biggles had been on the beds. While I took the pups for a walk, Susan got lumbered with the cleanup task. This was much tougher than expected because the fine weather had encouraged Biggles to shed his winter coat. The fur was everywhere!

Biggles demonstrates his epic shedding ability

As we made a final check of the hut I had to admit that it was mostly back to its original state, but Beanie & Biggles hadn’t finished trying to get us into hot water with the campsite staff. Before sealing them in the car behind a mountain of unnecessary junk, I took them for a final toilet break. As per campsite regulations this had to be off the site. I walked them around for a good ten minutes, using appropriate encouragement to get them to fully relieve themselves, but nothing was forthcoming. Eventually I gave up and guided them back onto the site towards our car. Just was we passed reception, and in near perfect synchronization, they both squatted and soiled the hallowed ground of the campsite with their smelliest offerings. I cleaned it up as best I could and hoped we’d not been spotted, but as we headed off in the car and waved to the camp warden, I couldn’t help wondering if his smile looked a little.. strained..

Last year passed without any major vet visits for the Beanster, but she’s more than made up for that in 2013 and the year’s barely got started.

This latest saga began with us noticing that she was holding herself a little funny one evening, didn’t seem keen on doing a full body shake, and couldn’t get comfortable anywhere. The next morning she became frantic, sprinting round the house and throwing herself against walls. Needless to say an emergency appointment was made, and off we all went to the doggy doctor. As is tradition, Beanie temporarily forgot about her symptoms while in the waiting room and used the sacred Beagle biscuit dance to score some treats . Once in the examination room the symptoms returned however, and the vet homed in on Beanie’s back, locating what appeared to be a tender spot. She got a painkilling injection which quickly made her more comfortable, and over the next couple of days she seemed to be recovering, though her ability to shake never fully returned.

Then, with the 2013 vet bill still safely below £100, Beanie had a sudden relapse – in fact if anything she seemed worse than she had been before. We took her back to the vet and a tender spot was once again found on Beanie’s back, but further forward than last time. She was given a powerful pain killing injection and yet more pain killers were prescribed, along with enforced crate rest for the remainder of the day. If she was not significantly improved by the next morning we were to bring her back for an x-ray, to consider the possibility of crumbling discs (apparently a failing in Beagles, though not ncessarily UK Beagles) and arthritis. Frantic Googling ensued when we got home, and though neither disc problems nor arthritis fully matched Beanie’s symptoms we couldn’t help being very worried about her. To heighten our worries, Beanie’s pain killing injection also had a sedative effect. This wasn’t truly apparent until I gently carried her into the garden to attend to the call of nature and saw her staggering and wobbling as she tried to squat. The vet got an anxious phone call about that one, I can tell you!

The next morning, after scarcely any sleep, I got her out of her crate and chauffeured her to the bottom of the garden for her first toilet duties of the day. Being Beanie she naturally found fault with the spot I’d chosen for her, and insisted on wandering round and round until an appropriate location was found. By now she was trotting relatively normally and I began to entertain the hope that maybe we could avoid another visit to the vet. She responded by scenting a chunk of bread just under the fence in our neighbors garden. She lunged for it, stuck her head under the fence and grabbed the bread before I could stop her, and of course a few minutes after that she was once again in severe discomfort. Vet time, obviously, again!

This time we got the most experienced vet in the practice. The problem now seemed to center around her neck rather than further down here spine. We left her at the practice for a an hour or so for x-rays while we took poor Biggles for a walk. Although it was Beanie who’d had all the pain and discomfort, The Bigglet had also suffered these last few days – from lack of attention. Despite this, he’d behaved himself very well and hadn’t taken advantage of Beanie’s weakened state, though he had nicked a few things from the top of the console table in our hall. But nobody’s perfect, right?

The wait for the x-ray results seemed to stretch on forever, but finally we were called into the examination room to get the verdict. Being a superstitious Yorkshireman I couldn’t help but expect the worst. In my head, Sod’s law dictated that my little girl, at just five years old, must have the worst spine problem possible. I just wanted the vet to break the terrible news quickly, but she was keen to give us a step by step presentation of the x-rays. As each image passed by without any abnormalities, I became certain that the next would be the one to drop the bomb. It was like being in a classic Hollywood suspense flick. A series of potential scares would heighten the tension then abruptly dissolve away, softening us up for the final knockout blow. Luckily for us, that knockout blow never came. Beanie had a neck strain and some associated stiffness in some of her muscles, but there wasn’t anything seriously wrong. Apparently her spine was not made out of chalk after all.

In due course the Beanster was brought out us. I expected her to be frail and sleepy from being anesthetized, prodded and poked, but no. This was best we’d seen her in the last few days! Wagging, moving smoothly and intent on investigating everything in her reach. I picked her up before she could do any mischief, buried my nose in the fur on the top of her head, and breathed in her subtle houndy scent just like I did the very first time I held her as a pup. The relief from my brief dose of aromatherapy coupled with the better-than-hoped-for-diagnosis made it so much easier to part with the huge cost of all this medical attention.

“Beanie’s going to be OK? Take my credit card! Take it and do your worst!”

And they did. My wallet wasn’t the only thing feeling flattened after this little adventure though. Still reeling from lack of sleep and the rollercoaster we’d been on, we were good for nothing but sleep. Little Beanie has put us through the emotional wringer so many times now that we just refer to the process as being “Beanied”. Compared to his sister, Biggles has been the dream Beagle. His best effort so far was to swallow half a kilo of grapes, and that’s barely on the radar compared to all of Beanie’s misadventures.

A few days on from all the drama and Beanie’s improving steadily. All in all, life’s pretty good for her right now. She gets the cosiest beds made up on the sofa, regular massages from Susan, and a dose of tasty painkiller each morning with her breakfast. Of course it’s not all good; she has to refrain from activities that involve rapid or extreme neck movements, so retrieval and tugging games are out for a while (it would also be better if she didn’t keep lunging for fallen crisps and food wrappers while on local walks, but you can’t have everything). Also, the chauffeured toilet visits are over. When nature calls, she’s back to slumming it just like her brother.

Beanie on her sick bed

That mark on her nose is dried hot chocolate, gained when she lapped up the dregs from a cup

Beanie’s injury must be taken seriously at all times, but it’s open season on the frozen peas her Mum uses to ice a strain after returning from the gym!

Package therapy, Beagle style

As to what caused the injury, I guess we’ll never know for sure. A little while back she did suddenly take off on a sprint while on lead and was brought to a sudden and violent stop by her collar. That can’t have helped. Also, Beanie has never really been capable of doing anything at a moderate effort level. If she chases, it’s at full speed. If she’s going to retrieve her ball, she has to do it in the most over-the-top acrobatic style. On top of that we’ve been letting her daily exercise slip over the last six months or so, and as any physio will tell you, you can’t lead a sedentary lifestyle yet go hell-for-leather at the weekend without picking up some injuries along the way. With that in mind we’re going to make sure that as she heals, her body is once again fit enough and strong enough to handle her madcap ways.

 

During the past fortnight everyone in our house has been struck down by illness.

The first to succumb, somewhat predictably, was Beanie. One day, shortly after her morning walk, she vomited up  her breakfast and promptly lost her appetite for food and water. Usually loss of appetite in a Beagle is a sign that something is very wrong, but Beanie has a history of being very sensitive to sick tummies so we bravely delayed any vet action for 24 hours. It turned out to be the right call because the next morning she had a drink and a little nibble of chicken. From there she rapidly returned to her normal self, whereupon Biggles did a couple of highly unpleasant barfs in our bedroom. He never lost his appetite though, and to be fair his bout of sickness could simply have been an attempt to make the carpet smell right after I’d given it a thorough wet clean at the New Year.

Once Biggles was back to full health we had maybe two days of normality before it was our turn for illness. Thankfully we didn’t get a vomiting bug, but we did get a really vile cold. Borrowing terminology from the camera world, I’ve been referring to it as a “bridge” cold; in the same way that a “bridge” camera sits between a point-and-shoot and a DSLR,  this cold was way worse than normal sniffles but didn’t quite have the knock-you-on-your-arse power of full-on flu.

Susan got it first, and a few days later it got its claws into me. Things were OK while at least one of us was feeling on top of things, but inevitably there was an overlap point where we were both suffering, and that’s when the house became a bomb-site. In our weakened state we got lazy about putting things away and tidying up after ourselves, and Beanie & Biggles took full advantage. At one point nearly every square foot of floorspace had some kind of Beagle-generated debris in it. There was ripped up mail and Amazon boxes , bits of socks and assorted underwear, and lot and lots of shredded tissues. Quite why a snot-filled, screwed up tissue is such a prized item for a Beagle I’ll never know, but it is.

Of course for every five (or maybe ten) naughty things they did, they’d each do something really endearing. One morning when I had the shivers, Biggles climbed into bed and reverse parked himself into my arms. He pushed his back against my stomach and tucked his head under my chin, warming me way better than any hot water bottle. I dozed off, and when I woke up he’d moved so that his arse was right under my nose. And yes, even with my cold, I was able to detect his farts.

On another occasion I was so choked up with mucus that I couldn’t get to sleep in our bed at all. I figured that the best way to get at least some shut-eye was to stay in the lounge watching the TV and deliberately try to stay awake. Typically this is a recipe for snoozing, for me at least. Sure enough I nodded off a few times, and the next morning I was very gently woken by Beanie. She’d moaned at Susan to let her out of her crate then trotted through to find me and check that all was well. No other dog in the world does greetings as sweetly as the Beanster: there’s no licking, she just reaches up to put her front paws on your shoulders and ever so gently touches her nose against yours while wagging furiously.

Anyway, despite this attack of the lurgi I still managed to get a few shots of the pups that are worth airing..