Although Beanie has become much more open to cuddles as she’s aged, they’re still quite rare and valued all the more because of it. I can usually sneak in a quick hug when I’m fitting her harness for a beach run because she’s so distracted by the seaside sniffs. Similarly a game of tug presents opportunities for a pseudo-cuddle, but sometimes – if she’s in the mood – she lets me sidle up to her on all fours, rest my head on her neck and massage her ears. Those are the best Beanie cuddles by far; they have a gentle intimacy that is lacking from even the most indulgent head-end Bigglet snuggles. They are also however very, very difficult to set up; if my timing and body language is off even slightly, I can very easily end up making a woof or three.

In physics the law of thermodynamics states that energy cannot be created or destroyed, while in the Beanieverse a similar law dictates that a woof once made cannot be unmade, and will always find its way out of the Beagle in question. This is exactly what happened during my most recent attempt to set up the head-on-neck cuddle variant. I don’t know whether my transition from two legs to four limbs was too fast, or two slow, or predator-like in some way, but the second I started moving towards her she drew back into a play-bow and as she came out of it, I knew I’d made a woof. All the telltale signs were present – a tensing of the muscles, a directness in her gaze – in fact I even said to her “I can see a woof in there! You may not know it’s there, but I can see it!”. My commentary distracted her for a second and she tilted her head as though trying to make sense of it, but then out came the woof, and as is so often the case with a woof, it had a lot of woof siblings. That day’s cuddle attempt was over!

Of course dogs aren’t the only ones to have their own weird set of rules. Here in the UK there seems to be one concerning freshly dug holes; it requires three workmen (preferably council workers) to stand round the new hole and gaze into it approvingly for far longer than would seem practical. If you’re not familiar with this rule, take note the next time you’re stuck in a roadworks queue. If there’s hole, I can almost guarantee you’ll see the three-man ceremony. You may observe the participants making short verbal exchanges during this process. I’ve often wondered what they’re saying to each other. Are they simply stating the obvious, as in “Yep, that’s a hole alright”, or are they offering thanks to some ancient god of roadworks? Maybe the sight of the hole has inspired them to a deep philosophical discussion on the meaning of life? Regardless, without this 3-man hole viewing, the digging isn’t truly finished. As it happens I’ve been digging holes myself as part of our project to extend the fence by our house, and in the absence of two human co-workers I’ve had to rely on Beanie and Biggles to make up the numbers for my own hole completion ceremony.

Beanie showed no interest in the results of all my graft, but Biggles was much more appreciative; he is after all the only one of us who has regularly worked on his own digging projects on mountain tops and on our local beach. If anyone knows what a good hole should look like, it’s him. After a thorough inspection in which he nearly fell in, Biggles declared my post-holes complete. He also slurped some of the muddy water at the bottom of one of them, and munched on some of the extracted muck that didn’t quite make into the wheelbarrow. That’s a level of thoroughness and enthusiasm rarely displayed by human roadworks crews, and maybe something they should look to add to their procedures.

It has to be said that The Bigglet brings the same level of thoroughness to most of the things he does, including the nicking of the cherry tomatoes we’ve grown. While Beanie works like a sniper, hunting down and grabbing only the tomatoes that are close to ripeness, he systematically gobbles down anything that’s tomato-shaped regardless of size or color.

Beanie stands in a plant pot to reach the more advanced tomatoes…

whereas Biggles is much less discerning…

but you can’t say he’s not thorough!

Fortunately the species of cherry tomato we’d grown here wasn’t particularly tasty so Biggles’ premature harvesting doesn’t represent a loss, but when we try different tomatoes next year I think we may have to worry about more than greenfly and frost damage!

Like most Beagle boys, Biggles really likes to have a chin rest when he’s napping, and I’m pretty sure that the perfect chin rest for him would be the warm, well-padded bottom of a friendly Beagle girl. Unfortunately he doesn’t have access to one of those; instead he’s got Beanie. Her bottom may be warm, but it isn’t particularly well-padded. Worse still, she generally likes to sleep alone – preferably in the humies’ bed or under a blankie – and is prone to grumbling if disturbed.

As Biggles’ 12th birthday approached, we considered other ways to get him the warm comfortable chin-rest he deserves. After an extensive Googling session, Susan spotted this:

He’s called Bonzo, and because he’s a boy rather than a girl, Biggles’ initial meeting with him was a bit awkward.

Undeterred, we carried on with Biggles’ busy birthday morning schedule. He had a walk with an extended blackberry picking session, a buffalo ear and a good long chew of his favorite filled hoof.

As an aside, I can’t sing the praises of filled hooves enough. I’ve found that if I hand them out just as we’re starting an indoor movie night, we get to see most of the movie without any intermissions. If you’re old enough, you probably associate the term “intermission” with a break in the film, during which a staff member tours the aisles selling ice-creams and other treats. The intermissions on our movie night are kind of similar, except that the member of staff is always Biggles, and the only thing he’s got for sale is the sock he’s just nicked from our bedroom.

Anyway, getting back to his Lordship’s big day, he did of course also get a birthday cake which was consumed quickly enough to set a new personal best time.

It should be noted however that Beanie is still the world record-holder for speed swallowing of birthday cakes and just about anything else she can get her jaws round.

After such a busy morning an extended nap was due, and it was at this point that Biggles overcame the prior awkwardness with Bonzo. You see the thing about Bonzo is that he has a big microwaveable heat pad in his tummy. That, combined with plenty of soft, springy stuffing, makes him into a very comfortable chin-rest, and he doesn’t much care whether you put your chin on his bottom, his head, or his paws.

One Beagle’s birthday is always another Beagle’s UNbirthday at our house, so we got the pups a Bonzo each. Such is the power of Bonzo’s gentle, comforting heat that even Beanie fell into a deep sleep without requesting a blankie covering. When she eventually awoke and went out to do what a girl’s gotta do in the garden, the Birthday Boy got to sample the extreme luxury of double Bonzos.

It’s notable that with Bonzo in their crates, both Beanie and Biggles settle down to sleep very quickly at night, with no noisy bed making attempts, and on mornings they tend not to be so desperate to swap their own beds for a snuggle with us in the humie bed. However, be aware that although Bonzo clearly feels great to little furry people, the quality of his stitching leaves a lot to be desired; Biggles nearly decapitated his when rearranging things on the sofa. Still, if Bonzo lasts I think our two pups will be much more comfortable during the long, cold winter nights that are coming.

I’ve heard a few discussions on talk shows about the effect of covid lockdowns on dogs. Apparently separation anxiety is a common development, but that doesn’t seem to be an issue for us, whereas jealousy definitely is. Beanie shows the most conspicuous and comical symptoms, and as a result we’re now calling her Little Miss FOMO.

When I go into the garden for a workout I often do my best to entice the pups out with me, but more often than not Biggles is the only one that actually turns up. By the time I’m done, Beanie’s FOMO compells her to check the site of my training session to verify that no biccies were secretly handed out, and typically she’ll also give Biggles a once-over sniffing too. It’s almost like a customs inspection; if she could pull latex gloves onto her front paws and give Biggles a body cavity search I’m sure she would (and to be honest I think Biggles might actually enjoy that – he’s always been a bit too keen on anal thermometers).

What’s going on, and is food involved?

If he’s busy cleaning his fur after a walk and things get overly noisy and slurpy – as can happen – I can guarantee that her head will pop out of her bed to check that he’s not getting something she isn’t. Her most illogical FOMO symptom involves cuddle sessions. Beanie has always hated soppy cuddles, but if she sees Biggles getting hugs and fondles, she hops onto the other side of the sofa and presents herself for the same treatment. It’s only when the cuddles start that she remembers how much she loathes them and demands a blankie covering.

I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea – blankie me NOW and don’t leave my head sticking out!

Convinced that she has a full comprehension of English but just pretends not to understand when it suits her (which is admittedly most of the time), I’ve been having long conversations with her to talk her out of all this FOMO behavior. I remind her that wherever possible we follow the “if one puppy gets, then so does the other” rule, and make her more aware of what a great ally she has in The Bigglet. For example, every time Biggles obtains a sock and sells it to me for a biccie, Beanie gets a biccie too. I guess it’s the equivalent of VAT at 100%, and even though it does reduce the number of socks I’m prepared to purchase from Biggles, he’s totally OK with it. Then there’s the rigmarole that happens when Miss FOMO catches me tickling Biggles’ tummy. I offer to tickle hers, but she refuses, sits right in front of me and begins airing her grievances like some 1970s trade union leader. Biggles, ever the supportive brother, jumps right down beside her and joins in, even though he’s effectively complaining about his own tummy tickle session.

Perhaps one day she’ll realize that all the FOMO stuff is unnecessary, and that we’re always looking out for her interests. Until then, that suspicious little bonce of hers is going to keep popping out of the bed to check she’s not missing out on anything.