A few weeks back I sent off the Kennel Club form to register Beanie as our dog, and as well as paying the fee I opted to get a formal 5-generation pedigree certificate. It arrived this morning, and although it wasn’t cheap I reckon it was worth getting:

As you can see, Beanie’s formal KC name is Newlin Zamantha. This name was chosen by the breeders, Liz Calikes and David Bradley at Newlin Beagles. They work through the alphabet, giving each new litter of pups names beginning with a particular letter. With Beanie and her siblings all having names beginning with “Z” that must be a lot of pups over the years!

The red entries on the pedigree denote champions, and as you can see Beanie’s got quite a few of them in her bloodline. Her mum was lovely Newlin Kelsey who we’ve met:

and her dad was Redcap Renaissance, shown at here at Crufts:

Quite apart from the snob value of having such a pedigree pup, I’ve come to realize how valuable it is to get your dog from a really experienced breeder. In our case, Liz and David of Newlin have been a great source of advice to us since getting Beanie. When we told them Beanie was unwell, they called and emailed us to check on her progress. They really care about their dogs and puppies!

It’s often written that beagles love to hang out with others of their breed, but finding other beagles in our area has proved surprisingly difficult. Consequently we had a great time on Saturday when we ran into another female beagle called Tess.

Poor Tess spent the first few years of her life purely as breeding stock on a so-called “puppy farm”. She was forced to have litter after litter in rapid succession, and by all accounts had a pretty miserable existence. Her new owner has been gently coaxing her out of her shell, and I think her meeting with little Beanie probably helped. They had a great time together running about the park – such a great time in fact, that we let Beanie have rather more exercise than is generally recommended. She didn’t show any signs of fatigue during play, but when we finally got her back to the car she went straight to sleep.

Back at home, Beanie received a generous helping of milk, scrambled eggs and cheese, and was then put in her crate to have a good long nap. It was when she awoke some five hours later that things started go wrong. She refused any further food, and wouldn’t even drink. Thinking she was just overtired, Susan cooked up a chicken breast and finally managed to get her to eat most of it. Ten minutes later though, the chicken was sitting in an undigested heap on the carpet, and Beanie was looking decidedly unwell.

As the day wore on, things got worse: she was reluctant to drink, and continued to be sick. We rang the helpline that’s provided with Beanie’s insurance, and of course while we were on the phone the little rascal perked up and started attacking the carpet. This brought the call to a quick end and we were happy that Beanie was on the mend. Unfortunately, the recovery was shortlived. By late evening she couldn’t hold down even a teaspoonful of water, had been sick eight times and was extremely lethargic. We got worried again, called the helpline and this time were advised to take her to the vet.

In our area, out of hours veterinary care is provided by Pets A&E in Glasgow. It was easy to find, and in less than twenty minutes I was anxiously ringing the buzzer while Susan clutched our sick little bundle. Once inside, Beanie was immediately on the receiving end of top notch care from an experienced vet and cuddles from the nurse. A human going to the A&E department of a hospital never gets treated that well!

Unfortunately for Beanie, she was also on the receiving end of a thermometer, and it wasn’t going in her mouth. She took it remarkably well, though she did squirm enough for the vet to comment “keep still sweetheart, it doesn’t go round bends”. After a thorough examination, Beanie got an injection to suppress the vomiting and we were on our way home with a few cans of bland but easily tolerated dog food. The injection worked brilliantly and by four in the morning (yes, we both stayed up with our poorly pup) she was drinking water and keeping it down. Her recovery continued, but only until the effect of the injection wore off.

On Monday we were back at the vets with a lethargic pup that couldn’t keep anything down and was refusing even to drink. Once again the thermometer was driven the wrong way up Beanie’s one-way street, and her abdomen was checked by the vet’s expert fingers. This time, however, things seemed more serious. All her vitals were good, but the vet was concerned about the possibility of a foreign body in her gut, which could require an operation. More tests would be needed in order to make the decision whether to operate or not, and Beanie would have to stay at the practice for a few hours while they were carried out. A consent form was produced and the vet guided me through exactly what I was about to sign. There was never any question about whether I would give consent – Beanie was ill and if she needed an op, she’d have to have it. But I could barely bring myself to focus on the form. I just kept thinking about how much Beanie was already an integral part of lives. She’d only been with us a few weeks and now it was looking like we’d let her swallow something that could threaten her life. I signed, we said our goodbyes to Beanie and then headed back to our uncomfortably quiet home to wait for the vet’s phone call.

When the call came, it was great news. There was nothing to indicate a foreign body, so the most likely cause of the illness was some kind of bug. She’d get another anti-vomit shot, some more of the foul smelling but stomach-friendly food, and some antibiotics. No operation, no more time without our little treasure, and nothing to beat ourselves up about for being bad doggy parents!

Well, now it’s a few days later and those antibiotics are really doing their thing. Beanie is back to being a whirlwind of naughty beagleness – in fact if anything she’s trying to make up for lost play time. I’ve already had to lift her off the chairs and extract my shoelaces from her mouth countless times today, but the seemingly impossible has happened: I actually love this little long eared rascal even more than I did a week ago.

This morning started like any other. I dragged myself out of bed, opened Beanie’s crate, and patiently waited for our little furball to emerge. As usual, the waking process began with a big yawn, followed by a long stretch that ended with her front paws poking out of the crate and making tentative contact with the carpet. Then she reached out further with her front legs and slowly dragged her body forward. As her rear approached the lip of the crate she didn’t bother to engage her back legs. Nope, the lazy little bugger just kept on inching forwards until her bum fell out of the cage and hit the deck. Then she just lay there, waiting for me to pick her up and rush out to the garden before Nature could take its course. And this morning, Nature had a big surprise for me.

After her pee, Beanie circled, sniffed and squatted for her “Number Two”. I could tell it was going to be a big one: a cloud of steam emerged from under Beanie’s tricolor arse as hot jobby met frozen grass. When Beanie finally stood up, I clicked my clicker and bent down to give her a treat (Beagle house training 101) but she immediately shifted position and squatted again. Blimey, a double!

I gave her the treat anyway and readied the poop bag. She stood up, moved a couple of inches and sank her bum back down. Yes folks, that’s three Number Twos in a single session, and it made the scooping process even more challenging than usual. It’s bad enough trying to get your polythene covered hand round one jobby while keeping your lighter and friskier Beagle from standing in it – or even worse – having a quick nibble of it, but three jobbies!!??**!

Once the bag was closed it was safe to breath again, but rather than chucking it straight in the bin, I allowed the fresh Beanie poop to warm my hands for a couple of seconds. Who needs gloves when you’ve got a Beagle?