In our house merely opening the cupboard that holds all the dog food causes a stampede. Wherever they are – regardless of whether they’re apparently fast asleep, raiding my sock drawer or tearing up newly delivered mail – they come running to see what nice thing they’re about to get. If that nice thing is a chew, then there’s another stampede as soon as they get it, because as everyone knows you can’t eat a chew just anywhere.

By far the favorite chew consumption area is a corridor by our bedroom. I guess they like it because it’s a safe secluded place. Biggles prefers to be right down at the farthest end, behind Beanie, but that causes problems because when he finishes his chew first, he’s trapped. The only way out of the corridor is past Beanie, and he’s not at all keen about passing close to her when she’s eating a chew. Being Biggles, he’s not content to just wait patiently for the two minutes it’ll take her to finish, so he woofs loudly to request an escort. To get peace, either Susan or myself has to literally provide him with a human shield so that he can pass safely through the Beanie danger zone.

As a workaround I recently tried handing Beanie her chew first, then motioning Biggles into the lounge and delivering his chew in there. My thinking behind this was: 1) he might just eat the chew in the lounge, and in any case 2) Beanie has by this time already taken up residence in the corridor, effectively blocking it. Either way, the problem is solved right? Wrong. Biggles scampered round the lounge frantically trying different candidate chew eating locations. Clearly none of them were any good because he then shot past me out of the lounge and straight down to the end of the corridor, passing a happily munching Beanie on the way! There he was finally able to consume his treat. And of course he still finished it first, found himself trapped at the dead end of the corridor and woofed loudly for an escort. Again.

Thanks to my experience with Dungeons & Dragons style fantasy games I immediately understood what had transpired. Clearly Biggles’ chew had been a magical item, temporarily rendering its holder immune to tellings-off from one’s sister. That’s right, Biggles had found the legendary Chew Of Invulnerability [single use]. With the chew in his mouth he’d been able to march past Beanie safely, but once it had gone he’d had no choice but to call for assistance.

Behold the magical Chew of Invulnerability. Note that once the chew has been consumed its protection expires and the user is once again at risk of severe grumpage, albeit with a slightly a fuller tummy

The crazy thing about all this is that Beanie has never actually grumped at Biggles for passing close by her while she’s eating; she’s oblivious to most things when something edible is actually between her jaws. In fact our two are getting on particularly well at the moment. There haven’t been any fall-outs in the house and outside play has been great, with much chasing and even a high-speed variant of hide-and-seek where each of them dives behind bushes and hillocks to throw the other off the trail.

I guess it doesn’t have to make any sense. It’s just one of those little Bigglisms that makes living with our two monkeys so.. interesting..

Britain’s been doing quite well in the Olympics but we’d be doing even better if the powers that be would only embrace some of the lesser known sports such as Boinging.

For the uninitiated, Boinging involves repeated pogo-stick style jumping in order to retrieve a target object from a high up place. It’s Biggles’ favorite sport, and he was training hard this morning when Susan left a plateful of cheese-covered toast crusts on the kitchen worktop.

It’s a surprisingly technical sport with marks being given for each of the four main stages of the boing.

Stage 1: Counter-surfing. Given only one brief peek, the contestant must correctly identify the high value item(s)

Stage 2: The launch. The contestant makes repeated standing jumps at the target directly from the floor and without the aid of any external apparatus

Stage 3: The snatch. On gaining sufficient height the contestant gathers all they can in a single mouth action

Stage 4: Speed eating. You only get points for what actually makes it into your stomach, so expert boingers like Biggles begin the consumption process even before their feet are back on the ground.

And there it is, the medal we could have if only the International Olympic Committee would add Boinging to their list of official sports

The ever-watchful Beanie

I’ve had my nose to the grindstone this last few weeks and that’s meant less play time for the Beaglets, but in turn it’s created more opportunities for Beagle naughtiness. You see, when a humie is concentrating on other things he becomes an easy mark for the alert Beagle, and trust me there is no more alert Beagle than Beanie. Even when she appears to be asleep, she’s usually just lying in wait for a chance to make a lightning raid on my desk, or slurp from an unattended cup, or pick the pockets of clothing left lying even for a second.

By the way dad, I’m probably due for a worming

In keeping with his nature, Biggles relies more on tactics rather than speed and daring. He knows the opening and closing sounds made by every door in the house and recognizes when one of them has been left open. If and when he decides to take advantage of the open door, he does so in an extremely laid back, matter of fact way so as not to arouse any suspicion. Sometimes he’s so laid back he’s like on of those poor bored souls employed at the local supermarket to collect empty baskets and trolleys. “Sigh.. someone’s left the kitchen door open again. I was just getting sleepy too. Still, I guess it’s my job..” When he finds something worth grabbing of course there’s no shortage of enthusiasm, and the ensuing crashing and banging noises bring us running (and Beanie too, because Biggles’ raiding missions always leave lots of interesting stuff on the floor).

In response we get a bit better about closing doors and not leaving things lying around, but our Beagles have an answer for that too: teamwork. Biggles drains the drinking bowl, then bangs on the kitchen door to go out for a pee. Forced to leave my work, I decide to use the interruption as an excuse for a coffee break. Now unsupervised, Beanie has full access to my desk until I return. Just as I’m sitting back down in front of the computer with my fresh coffee – ready to undo Beanie’s random “typing” and monitor repositioning – Biggles announces that he’s ready to come back in, so I’m back up out of my seat and on the way to the kitchen. The coffee of course is now unattended on my desk and completely at Beanie’s mercy. If I play it differently and make Biggles wait a little while I drink my coffee, he’ll just open the door from the garden himself – damaging the paintwork in the process – and gain unsupervised access to the kitchen. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. And when we’re finally all back in one room and I’m just getting back into work Beanie wants a drink, so I have to refill the bowl, and when I get back there’s a Bigglet sitting in my seat with a “What?” look on his face.

In an effort to break up this dual offensive I’ve been deliberately leaving the door to the bedroom open some days. This is a risky venture; if Susan’s left any socks lying around Biggles will hunt them down and there’ll be a chase and noisy Beagle discussion about who has ultimate sock rights. But.. if the bedroom is clear of socks, then it’s an irresistible lure for the Beanster. She just has to sneak in there and burrow her way into our bed.

Once there, covered by a thick sound-insulating duvet, she should be blissfully unaware of any raiding opportunities for the next few hours.

Or maybe that’s just what she wants me to think…