This year Guy Fawkes Night landed on a Thursday, and due to its proximity to the weekend the fireworks kept flying over four nights or so, terrifying livestock, horses and one otherwise confident little Beagle called Beanie.

I can’t complain really, because we get off pretty lightly out here in Ayrshire; when we lived in Glasgow the whizz-bangs could keep going intermittently almost through to Christmas.  Still, those nasty pops and bangs made our little girl very nervy and clingy. On the evening of November the 5th itself I ended up trying to work at my computer with Beanie glued to my lap, her chin slumped over my mouse-hand and her rear end trembling away. Biggles sought refuge next to my legs under the desk, but to be honest I think he was troubled more by Beanie’s reaction than the fireworks themselves. I did my best not to fall into the trap of actively offering reassurance to either of them, but it wasn’t easy.

When the fireworks fizzled out Beanie remained on a hair-trigger for a further ten days or so. Any loud sound – thunder, heavy rain, even the bin lorry doing its rounds – would send her scurrying onto my lap. The terrible thing is, I really enjoyed it. Right after jumping up (and occasionally jabbing a rear paw into my unmentionables)  she’d put her arms either side of my neck and shower my face in little wet nose kisses. Then she’d choose her resting position according to the severity of the perceived threat: a formal “sit” facing away from me for a yellow alert, and slumped across my lap with her head pinning my right arm for a double-red alert.

During a series of day-time yellow alerts Beanie came to realize that my lap is a really great place for snooping on the neighbors (one of her favorite pastimes) and now the habit seems to have stuck. At least once a day, whether there’s an unexplained loud noise or not, I can pretty much count on getting some Beanie lap time. I’ve probably had more displays of affection from her in the last few weeks than in the ten months prior.

That’s not the only change in recent weeks though, because our days have become noisier and more entertaining thanks to the purchase of a cheap rug for the front lounge. The rug was originally intended as an alternative to an exercise mat, allowing both Susan and myself to do foam rolling and other tedious physical rehab while watching the TV. The thing is, we humies scarcely ever get to use the rug, because it’s been re-assigned as a Beagle resource.

Apparently it’s the perfect surface for blankie tug-o-war, for indulgent rolling and tummy-tickles, and for impromptu naps.

So, you want to use the rug to do some stretches and trigger-point therapy?
No, sorry, it’s booked until teatime.

Humans say “trick OR treat” – implying the two choices are mutually exclusive – but if you’re a little Beagle boy you really can have both.

Biggles demonstrated this to us a couple of nights ago when returning from his evening walk. Just as he trotted up our drive with Susan and The Beanster, he spotted a little poo-present left by one of the local cats.

It was a wholly unexpected find. Biggles regularly hurls verbal abuse at every moggy he sees, except that is for the one at the nearby farm, because that one is really big and scary and could probably beat him up. And yet, despite all that inflammatory woofing, one public-spirited feline still decided to leave a little poo as a belated birthday gift for his lordship. Or maybe it was for his sister Beanie, given that her birthday was more recent, but the fact is that Biggles found the poo first and therefore, under all accepted versions of the Beagle Book of Law, it was his, and he pounced on it.

Where a less experienced Beagle might simply have swallowed it whole, Biggles snacked on only a part of it, thus getting the “treat” part of the Halloween combo while still keeping enough left over for the “trick”. Once safely inside the house, he waited until his lead was unclipped then marched to the rug in our hall. The rug is a chaotic  mix of dark and light coloured rectangles, but Biggles knew he had to target one of the lighter bits if the trick was to be truly successful. Before anybody could stop him, he spat out the remainder of the cat poo, lowered his shoulder and started to fall into a roll. I say “fall”, because his rolling technique isn’t what you’d call a precision manoeuvre. Nevertheless he managed to hit the poo square-on with his shoulder, not only rubbing it into his fur, but also into a cream-coloured portion of our rug. Perfect! Treat AND trick, all from the same bit of poo. And Beanie never got a single bit of it.

For a few weeks out of each year Biggles gets to boast that he’s just as old as his sister – in integer years at least. Maybe it’s my imagination but I do think he gets an extra swagger about him during this time. Unfortunately Beanie’s just had her eighth birthday and now he’s back to being her little brother again. It’s not so bad though, because birthdays generally mean food and fun.

The big day started with a trip to our local pet shop. The instant we got out of the car Biggles somehow knew where we were going, while Beanie was a little more concerned about purging the nearby parking spaces of all dropped food remnants. That and rolling in a bit of seagull guano. Nevertheless we eventually made it into the store, charged past the rabbits and guinea pigs with our heads down (‘cos those rabbit things are really scary) and made a beeline for the toy aisle. Once there – and just in case any of the staff had failed to notice our entrance – we had a really loud and extended woofing session at a big Humpty Dumpty toy on a distant shelf. Clearly the owners of the shop were unaware that Humpty-Dumpty is a well known villain in the Beagle world. Now that the Metropolitan Police have dropped their 24/7 guard on Julian Assange, maybe they can send someone along to Ayrshire to deal with said Mr. Dumpty?

Somehow amid all the woofing, pulling and meticulous floor licking we found suitable things to spend our money on. As is her wont, Beanie did her special biscuit summoning dance at the checkout; it was particularly successful this time, netting two servings of gravy bone biccies each for her and Biggles.  We exited the shop with two new collars (genuinely needed, as their old ones were getting really tatty) and two other items that were ridiculously expensive but have already proved a huge hit with both our pups. I can’t remember what the mystery items are called and the packaging is long gone, but they look like this:

They’re made of flavored nylabone-type material, with a slot on each arm that can securely hold a clip-in treat. With no opposable thumbs available, the waggy recipient of the toy has to get to work on it with their teeth. I fully expected Biggles to be the best at this due to his amazing chewing powers, but it was the birthday girl who was first to liberate her treat from the plastic.

Susan figured it was just pot luck that enabled Beanie get her treat out first..

..But I think Beanie’s success had something to do with her superior ability to hold things in her paws

Holding the toy at just the right angle, she was able to pop the bone-shaped treat out in about a minute

The Bigglet’s approach was much less sophisticated. He tried licking it for a bit..

Then settled for good old fashioned brute force. And it worked. Eventually.

The best thing was that even after the treats had gone, the two of them kept on chewing – to such an extent that Biggles’ toy was already looking worse for wear when we finally took it off him. Still, chewing up that nylabone material is supposed to help clean teeth, so it’s all good. What’s more, there’s no need to keep paying for more of the clip-in treats, because a dollop of natural yoghurt and some time in the freezer works just as well.

Needless to say there was cake too, and after a long walk involving an extended blackberry picking session, we all cosied up to watch the return of zombie drama “The Walking Dead”. As the episode ended, the heroes were in a bit of a pickle due to the zombies being attracted by loud noise. All things considered, it’s not too surprising that the show has never counted Beagle owners among the survivors of the zombie apocalypse.