It’s been a funny couple of weeks since my last post. I’ve been flogging various items on eBay to clear some space and raise funds for a free standing pull-up bar for our home gym. I’ve got rid of an old workout bench, assorted other unused equipment, and even Beanie & Biggles’ battery powered lure coursing machine. I felt a little bad about that last one; our dynamic duo have had some fun times chasing it around but we just haven’t used it in ages. Our garden’s not really big enough to use it properly, Biggles stopped following it ages ago (preferring instead to lay in wait for it at the finish point), and Beanie gets ridiculously over-excited whenever we set it up. Add to that the problem of finding a large enough, safe-ish area at a time when no other people or dogs are around and, well it was all just too much hassle. Still, Beanie gave me some funny looks when I was photographing it in the lounge; her little puzzled face even made it into one of the eBay photos as she watched me through the lounge door.

Anyway the bottom line was that the camera came out but was never pointed directly at the Beagles, which was decidedly weird. It got even weirder when one week later a strange bloke came to the house to collect the bench that he’d bought. His arrival really caught the pups by surprise, but I think he was even more surprised than they were. As he entered the house, Biggles was right by the baby gate that secures the lounge, woofing and repeatedly boinging like a pogostick. Next to Biggles was a small blanket-wrapped blob that had a wagging tail sticking out of its rear. Of course the blob was actually The Beanster, who’d been having her afternoon nap and had been in such a hurry to greet the stranger that she hadn’t had time to shed her blankie. Needless to say the guy didn’t hang around long. He handed over the cash, took the bench, and backed away slowly avoiding eye contact.

The next weird event occurred in our home gym when the new stuff arrived.  Susan & I assembled the pull-up bar & rings while Beanie & Biggles tore up the packaging and deposited it all round the house, and then we had a brief photoshoot.

That wasn’t the weird part, by the way. It wasn’t even weird when Biggles concentrated so much on posing with the rings that he fell off the bench we was on and landed on his head. That kind of thing happens to Biggles all the time. No, the weird bit came when I laid down on the exercise mat to do my abs, and for the first time in my life, actually allowed Beanie to hump my leg.

Beanie gets to hump Susan all the time, and she usually leaves a little wet patch of pee on Susan’s leg when she’s finished. But when the little tricolored limpet attempts to lock onto one of my legs, she gets shaken off immediately. Always. Except this time. I figured that just this once I’d let her start humping, grab a quick photo of her then prise her off my leg before the pee. As you might expect I mistimed it, and had to change one of my socks right after I took the shot. But the weirdness didn’t stop there, because ever since that humping, Beanie has been extraordinarily biddable. No impatient howling if I’m late with her tea. No attempts to linger in the kitchen when there’s food on the worktops. And no temporary deafness when I tell her to get out of bed on a morning. You know what this means? Cesar Milan has got it all wrong. If you want a compliant, hassle-free Beagle just forget all that “be a pack leader” stuff and let her hump the hell out of your leg and pee on your sock.

And finally, after that dog training revelation, here are a few shots from another hike up Knock Hill on a day when it wasn’t raining (much). It was cold, it was windy, and it was woofy. So at least something’s been normal this last couple of weeks!

Late on Saturday night I noticed that the horror film “Insidious” was on the telly, and I couldn’t resist. Insidious is one of those films that uses suspense, suggestion and lighting to create its chills rather than going down the splat/gore route. Sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, the open door through to our unlit hallway was almost directly behind me. As I was drawn into the film I became acutely aware of noises coming from the darkness to my rear; little things that would normally go unnoticed. A radiator ticking as fresh heated water runs through it. Floorboards creaking ever so slightly. The letterbox flap rapping against its frame as a breeze catches it. And.. a scratching noise coming from the bedroom door! I paused the film and went to investigate, just the way characters do in movies before something bad happens.

As I opened the bedroom door I was met not by some paranormal entity, but by The Bigglet. These days Biggles often gets restless when I stay up to watch a film. He was restless now, and in need of a trip to the garden. I let him out and watched the film a bit more, but his Biggleship’s interruption had completely broken the film’s creepy vibe. Probably not a bad thing if I wanted to avoid nightmares. In due course Biggles woofed to be let back in and I considered letting him sit with me while we watched the remainder of the movie. Unfortunately I smelled the unmistakeable odor of poo on his breath and decided that no, this time he was going straight back to his crate.

After the movie I fell into a surprisingly deep sleep and dreamed that I could smell poo. A short, sharp woof from Biggles’ crate dragged me out of my slumber and I realized that I really could smell poo. There was also a lapping noise coming from his lordship’s crate. It took a couple more minutes before I truly came to my senses and attended to the situation. Apparently Biggles had been “caught short” in the worst way on his bed and had cleaned most of it up, but now he was licking his lips as though he was about to be sick. It was time to act fast! Actually, that’s not true. It had been time to act fast about two minutes ago; now it was just plain too late. I got him about halfway to the bedroom door before he was sick. The bedroom was still in darkness so I just kept him moving through the doorway and turned on the hall light. We headed towards the kitchen and again he was sick. This time I could see it: a small dark pool, maybe three inches across and apparently without any solid matter. I figured it would be an easy cleanup job and continued into the kitchen, releasing Biggles into the garden.

Returning to the hall and the site of the small vomit pool, I was immediately hit by a sickening stench. The night had started with carefully crafted suspenseful chills, but now we were in good old-fashioned splatterfest territory: here was regurgitated, partially digested fecal matter mixed with stomach bile, a Beagle speciality that goes by the name “shitvom”. I put a few sheets of toilet paper over the small pool to begin soaking it up and went to the bedroom to inspect the other vomit site. Turning on the bedroom light, the true horror of the situation hit home. This was no small pool, no easy cleanup job. From the doorway it looked like a large but thin round chocolate cake with various unrecognizable decorations sitting on top.  The smell was so over-powering, so indescribably vile that I simply couldn’t get any closer to it. I went back to the kitchen and grabbed an air freshener.  Squeezing the air freshener’s trigger like an exorcist clutching his cross, I was finally able to approach the shitvom cake and cover it with toilet paper. Lots of toilet paper. So much in fact that when I gained sufficient control over my gagging reflex to scoop it up and into the en suite toilet, the toilet blocked with the first flush. With toilet paper now a non-option, I sacrificed a large fluffy bath towel to get the rest of the “cake” off the carpet while Susan dealt with the smaller incident in the hall.  During all this Biggles had finished his duties outside and was woofing to come in, probably loud enough to wake the neighbors, but we had no choice but to leave him out here. The LAST thing you ever want to do when a Beagle has a shitvom incident is let him approach it, because he’ll lap it right up and you’ll be all set for round two!

Eventually we all got back to bed but sleep did not come easily, due in no small part to the disgusting aroma of air freshener mixed with vomited poo that hung in the air. The following morning the bedroom still smelled funky, and the toilet was still blocked. I poured a full bottle of “Mr Muscle” down it and left it to work. I hope it does the trick because I don’t relish having to go mano-a-mano with that blockage.

Your Beagle may look sweet and innocent.. but don’t be fooled. Be ever watchful, and keep your cleaning cupboard well stocked.

For even a Beagle who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night, may do a shitvom when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.

Biggles has just had his fifth birthday! For five long years now he’s been aarrfing, warbling, farting, nicking gobfuls of my lunch, producing and eating poo, peeing on my DVD collection and on his bed, boinging, cheating at lure coursing, getting emergency trips to the vet for consuming half a kilo of grapes and getting his tail pulled by his sister and his tummy tickled by us. How on earth do you reward a little Beagle boy for all that tireless hard work? Well, you can start with a scrambled egg breakfast!

Unlike normal breakfasts, this one came before the morning walk not after, and this radical departure from normal routine threw the Beagle community into chaos. Beanie was the most confused, due to her rigid and wildly mistaken beliefs about how mealtimes work. In her head, bowls of kibble only become accessible to her and her brother if she sits very neatly in exactly the right place in the corridor leading to our bedroom. There’s an invisible kibble release plate there, you see, and the only reason she and Biggles haven’t starved to death already is because she knows to sit on it. But where on earth do you sit to release a scrambled egg breakfast served before the morning walk?

In desperation she took the shotgun approach, parking her bum in various places in the hall in the hope that she’d land on it by chance. Biggles was thrown for a loop as well; the scrambled egg came in his “Woof” bowl. Did that mean he should woof for his breakfast, or that the woof was already provided by the bowl and he should stay quiet? He woofed, then he stayed quiet. He boinged, then he sat still (apart from his tail which couldn’t stop wagging).  It was all very, very confusing.

Should I woof? Should I sit? What do I have to do to get this?

Fortunately, and just in the nick of time, Beanie’s bum must have found the scrambled egg release plate because the “Take it” command was given!

Yes! A new world record for speed eating is about to be set!

After an appropriate pause for digestion and supplementary napping, the morning walk provided a welcome return to routine. Then the world got turned on its head again by some special bone-shaped biscuits from The Beagles Bakery. Beanie & Biggles have had personalized biccies from there before, but this time they were much, much bigger and covered in dog-friendly chocolate!

I’d intended to get some shots of our two sitting neatly as the biccies were served up, but all I got was this:

The truth is that as soon as they got a whiff of those biscuits, Beanie & Biggles went beserk. It was a much stronger reaction than we got for the scrambled egg, stronger even than we’ve ever had for fresh cooked chicken. We managed to get control for maybe half a second then Biggles lunged at the box and by sheer luck grabbed the biscuit with his name on it. There was nothing to do but let Beanie have hers as well. I suppose it’s only fair that the rules get relaxed a little when it’s your birthday (or unbirthday, as in Beanie’s case).

Next came the presents. Even though they weren’t edible they were received very enthusiastically – so enthusiastically that Biggles fumbled and knocked his onto the floor!

Noooo! My pressie! Must chase after it!

Both Beanie and Biggles tore open their packages but then completely ignored the actual presents, preferring instead to run off with the packaging and tear it up some more (Beanie) and mop up any remaining biscuit crumbs (Biggles).

Once those important duties had been completed the presents finally received some attention. We’ve often described our two Beagles as cheeky monkeys, so I’d bought them a pair of cheeky monkeys of their own. Beanie’s monkey is a tug toy with a single squeaker in its head, whereas Biggles’ is more of a cuddly toy with eight – yes, EIGHT!!!- squeakers inside. Biggles loves squeaky toys but for some reason the squeakers always stop working within a couple of minutes. I figured that with eight of them on-board, his monkey might just last a bit longer.

Biggles gently picked up his toy and took it onto the sofa for an in-depth examination.

It squeaks when I bite it here Dad!

And here!

And here!

Here too!

Beanie put her toy to use as well. First there was tugging, then squeaking, then ripping. In a minute or so, there was a gaping hole in her monkey’s head and I was retrieving the broken squeaker from her mouth.

Bereft of life it rests in pieces. It is an ex-squeaker. It has ceased to be.

Even though it would never squeak again Beanie was still very happy with her toy and joyfully paraded it around the garden.

Biggles chose to stay on the sofa with his monkey. All eight squeakers were still functional, and the monkey’s head made a very comfortable chin rest.

Later in the day when Beanie’s monkey was in a drawer with a sickening head wound and a severe case of PTSD, Biggles’ monkey was still intact and able to squeak. My little boy likes destroying boxes, toilet rolls and crisp packets as much as any doggy, but now he’s a little older he seems to be surprisingly gentle with his toys. Happy 5th Mr Biggles!