One day last week, without so much as a by-your-leave from the Beaglets, the beginnings of a new kennel appeared right in the middle of Biggles’ favorite patio pooping zone.

Though far from complete, early signs were that this was going to be a significant improvement over their previous kennel. For one thing, it was clearly going to be a lot more spacious than the old one.

Kennel v1.0. Compact and bijou to put it kindly.

Floor of kennel V2.0. Plenty of space to swing a cat, or at least a stuffing-free fox that stopped squeaking months ago.

Beanie tested the floor out and found that it was solid enough for fetch games played with a disgusting, soggy tennis ball that had been out in the garden for most of the winter.

Overall things were looking promising for this new kennel, and over the next two days considerable effort went into its completion. Obviously none of that effort was expended by Beanie & Biggles; they just lazed around in the living room, demanding tummy tickles and waiting for teatime.

Nevertheless the new kennel was erected and roofed just before the latest West of Scotland monsoon arrived, and the pups were finally invited in to check things out.

The finished thing looked a bit weird on the outside, but it’s the inside that counts. And what did they find on the inside?

An unmitigated disaster, that’s what! For one thing, it was only equipped with a single chair, and I do mean “chair” – not sofa! How can two Beagle bottoms be expected to fit in such a small space?

Clearly not up to the standard that Beanie and Biggles have come to expect, but as the inspection continued even more critical design flaws were uncovered.

The windows had been placed so high that no-one could see out of them, even with their feet on a stool. How on earth is a Beagle boy supposed to keep watch for postal deliveries, neighboring dogs going for their walks and the 1001 other situations deserving of a robust woofing?

Similarly look at the height of this table! It’s obviously been designed to taunt the height-challenged family members, allowing them to see but not reach the items residing upon it.

Is that a sawdust collector for a circular saw, or a black sock? Either way it should be in easy reach of the resident sock expert!

And what’s this? It looks a bit like one of those Nordic food puzzles for dogs that are supposed to test intelligence but can always be defeated by good old fashioned Beagle brute force, but.. where are the treats!!!

As the inspection continued, excitement changed to disappointment, disappointment turned to a sense of betrayal, and from that only one outcome was possible:

I think our new shed is going to need a treat jar. A really big treat jar. And ear defenders.

My cheeky little boy has had a week to remember. At the very start of it, movie night returned and both he and Beanie got a fresh filled hoof each to keep them occupied during the film. They hadn’t had hooves in a while so there was much wagging, rapidly followed by even more licking, slurping and chewing. It’s not uncommon for Biggles to end up with Beanie’s hoof on the following day – when his sister has concluded that the chewing effort required to get the remaining tasty bits just isn’t worth it – but this night my boy wasn’t prepared to wait. The instant Beanie left her hoof to check for unclaimed crumbs on the rug, he swooped in and knicked it. Under normal circumstances this would result in an immediate telling-off from the Beanster, or she might just complain to me and get me to put things to rights, but this time he got away with it. Things are always worth more to Biggles when he’s stolen rather than received them, and this was particularly evident with his extra hoof. He chewed it all that evening and all the next day, sometimes falling asleep mid-chew as fatigue set in.

The hoof-fest was great, but a day later he scored extra naughty points by breaking a treasured bottle of our first attempt at home-brewed wine, spilling that wine all over the kitchen floor. To be fair it wasn’t a deliberate act of destruction; it was more the result of a critical misunderstanding of how the world works. He’d just been let into the kitchen on his way to the outside loo, but he wanted to do a quick flyby of the worktops to see if there was anything worth getting. Susan was onto him immediately – trying to herd him to the door – so he gave her the run-around by diving under the kitchen table. He’d probably intended to emerge on the other side, squeezing between the wine rack and one of the chairs to gain freedom, but this is where the critical misunderstanding came in; you see Biggles thinks that if his head fits through a gap, then so will his big white bottom. This is sadly not the case. His bum nudged the bottle enough to make it fall out of the rack and smash on the floor. This alone would have been a good result for any Beagle boy, but Biggles wasn’t finished; in the ensuing commotion caused by the flood of red wine he snouted open the bin and made off with a used tin of tuna.

His biggest score came towards the end of the week when my latest order from the pet shop arrived. I’d got a couple of tubes of doggy toothpaste, toothbrushes and three bags of pressed fish cubes (the treat I give the woofers after a good brushing session). Susan took in the package, checked its contents and then – distracted by something else – left the opened package on the sofa. A little later when both us returned, the rug was covered in chewing debris and Biggles was merrily finishing off one of the bags of fish cubes. I was about to take both pups to the beach for a run, but looking at Biggles’ swollen undercarriage I realized that running was out of the question for him; in fact the only thing he managed to do for the rest of the day was sleep while his gut struggled with the enormous processing job.

Processing…

Still processing…

Neither of us could tell whether he was deliriously happy with his extra full tummy, or whether he’d got a bad case of “Christmas pud syndrome”, but I noted that he chose to sleep fully stretched out; there were no curled up power-naps until after a particularly long loo visit. Mercifully there were no emergency toilet trips during the night, but the next day I went out to the garden to see how much of a cleanup operation was required and returned with four full poo bags. Four, and clearly all his work! Still my boy wasn’t done; on our walk it was “eyes down for a full house” as we crossed the first road. His virtual pants were dropped again as we walked by someone’s drive, and again when I tried to get him out of the way of a cyclist.

Even if this week finished with a epic tummy ache, I’ve a feeling that it will go down in Biggles’ memory as a particularly good one.

We’re well into 2021 and so far it’s even worse than 2020, which is no small accomplishment, and nothing to celebrate.

Dogs are supposed to love routine, so the endless repeating pattern of life in lockdown should be great for our two, and in some ways it is; lots of snuggly lie-ins in the big bed, humie servants constantly available to cater to every whim, and the certainty that tomorrow will be just the same. The downside is that dogs are also really good at sensing the moods of their humies, and there’s no doubt that Beanie and Biggles are picking up on the escalating tension, frustration and worry that this ongoing situation is creating.

Predictably Beanie has been the most affected. She’s become Velcro Beagle, constantly following us round the house and needing frequent reassurance that everything is OK, but even happy-go-lucky Biggles is aware that something is going on. He’s been hoarding extra socks to use as tender if and when the apocalypse strikes, and is incapable of sleeping unless his big white bum is pressed tightly against one of us.

The other night I went into our “posh” lounge alone to chill out in front of an old, familiar movie – David Lynch’s Dune – but it wasn’t long before I heard scratches at the door. I ended up sitting right in the middle of the sofa – on the gap between the seat cushions –  with a fully expanded Beaglet on either side. Satisfied that I couldn’t sneak away again without them feeling it, Beanie and Biggles both relaxed and nodded off. When Kyle Maclachlan proclaimed “The sleeper has awakened!!” I could barely hear him over the stereo snoring.

Movie intermission, Beagle-style. And don’t think you can go wandering off and leave us alone in here Dad!

I’m very aware that we’ve got it way easier than so many others. While some people aren’t even allowed out of their houses to exercise their dogs, we’re able to go for walks in our beautiful local countryside.

But a guilded cage is still a cage, and outside that cage the world is being turned on its head. Keep collecting those socks Biggles! We may need them before all this is done!