Report From The Other Side

Hey! It's The Blogging Beagle here once again. Yeah, I know it's been a good long while since I last visited these pages.

Truth be told, there wasn't much to report. Life was pretty comfy and pretty cushy. Camping trips, music with my humans, good chow, and the occasional apple or pear core.

Thinking about cake

Life was pretty comfy. Until it wasn't. The last few weeks (months, probably, if truth be told), I haven't been feeling like my old self. Looking back, that decision to eat a pair of underwear was probably not one of my best.

Even before that, though, I felt myself starting to slow down. The neighbor dog wasn't around to chat with, and I had lost some of my love of howling at other dogs. My back legs were starting to bother me, and walks just weren't as enjoyable.

I tried to stay strong and stick around for my main human, especially after he showed how much he loved me by fixing me some chicken breast when he doesn't even eat meat. Talk about getting the good stuff! But even that held only temporary appeal.

A few days ago, I started trying to tell my human it was time for me to move on to the next adventure. It took a while to get the message through since he doesn't speak Beagle very well at times.

He'd let me outside, and I'd do my thing, then come back to the door. I'd look at him and then walk away again. I did this several times, and I think he finally began to get it.4

That was Monday. Tuesday, he decided to take me back to the vet, I'm sure in hopes of some good news. I wasn't too excited about going out, even when he flashed the leash.

Judging from his reaction, I don't think he actually agreed with me that it was time to go until he made the decision. I won't bore you with the details of what happened after that except to say that there was cake! Even though I wasn't much into food at this point, you know I had to try that!

My human was sad, I could tell, but he stayed brave for me, and I'm glad he stayed through it all. He even stayed a while after, in order to make sure I got where I was going.

Speaking of which, I'm not really sure where this is, but I can tell you there are a lot of trees and lots of smells to check out. I think I'm going to like it here.

I've have checked in sooner, but there has been so much to do and see. First, there's the orientation, where they go over the rules. Rule 1: Play nice. Rule 2: Have fun. I think I can handle that.

The only problem with this new place is that they also allow cats. I've never had much use for them before, but I'm learning to adapt. The cats here seem a bit friendlier than I remember cats being, so I'm sure things will work out fine.

The other reason it took me so long to report on this new place was that I wasn't sure how to get this report back to my human so he could share it with you. As I said, sometimes he didn't speak Beagle that well, and he wasn't always the sharpest bone in the yard, if you get what I'm saying.

But he always meant well, and he tried hard to be a good human servant, so I figured I'd eventually be able to get a message through to him. Well, I did, and here it is.

I know he's still hurting a bit, so I wanted to let him know I'm doing fine here, and I'll be waiting for him. We'll have some fun then. Maybe I'll teach him to chase the tennis ball. Won't that be something to see?

Anyway, if you see my human around, maybe say hi or give him a hug from me. I couldn't really ever do that before. My legs were too short.

Well, I guess that about wraps it up from here. It took a lot to get this message through, so I won't be checking in again. Before I go, though, I've got a message for my four-legged brothers and sisters in fur. (Okay, this goes for you cats, too.)

Be good to your humans while you're with them. Most of them are doing the best they can and will likely hurt a while after you're gone. (As for those humans who aren't doing the best they can, they aren't worth peeing on, but go ahead and do it anyway. You'll feel better.)

Make sure you let your humans know that you love them, and make sure they love you back. And remember, beagles are regal. Goodbye until we meet again on the other side. Bark. Bark. Howl.

Aging Like a Fine Whine

In the past, a few people have asked me to post more often. Well, what am I going to write about? I know some blogs post about the daily events in the authors' lives. I guess I could do that.

Here goes. This is a typical day. I wake up. I pee. I eat. I drink. I sleep. I poop. I sleep. Rinse and repeat.

I guess I could write that every day, but it would get old in a hurry.

Speaking of getting old, my birthday was this week. That's right; I'm now the big one-one. Yup, I'm 11, but I don't feel a day over nine.

Now that I've reached what some refer to as "senior citizen" status (don't let me hear you say that or I'm likely to have a "senior moment" on your butt, if you get my drift), I guess I'm going to have to finally give in and join AARB. (That's American Association of Retired Beagles for those of you not up on your acronyms.)

They've been after me to join ever since I turned eight. I think of all the trees that went into printing those materials, trees that could have been marked as territory by other beagles, and it makes me want to howl.

Anyway, the benefits look pretty good: discounts on Nylabones and dog treats; reduced pricing on trips to places like Dog Walk, Kentucky; Dog Town, Alabama; Dogtown, California; and Dog Bluff Landing, South Carolina. I'm seriously thinking about a trip to Beagle Bay, Australia (seems a no-brainer), but I think I'll skip the trip to Kathmandu. (Those sneaky felines, adding a silent 'h' and starting the name with a 'K' trying to fool folks, but I know this is a cat town. You can't fool us beagles.)

On second thought, all this talk of traveling has worn me out. Maybe I'll just take a little nap. The daily routine works fine for me, and if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Bark. Bark. Howl.

Does This Thing Make My Head Look Big?

I know I haven't been around for a while, but you know how it is. It's a dog's life - eat, sleep, poop, howl. Same ole, same ole. Not much happening

Of course, I did turn the big 1-0 last September. I celebrated by marking a few new spots in the yard and howling at the neighbor's new dog. Have to show him who's boss, after all.

Other than a birthday and another new Nylabone for Christmas (when will my humans wise up and get me an electric ear scratcher?), it's been a pretty uneventful life since I last visited. Until recently, that is.

My male human, well-meaning as he is (he's only human, after all), decided I needed some medical attention for some new growth on my left rear leg. My feeling has always been if it ain't broke, chew it, but he apparently isn't familiar with that philosophy.

So my human took me to the vet, and the vet decided the growth should grow no more and should be removed. I didn't mind too much. They gave me some nice drugs and some good ear scratches.

I just don't think it's me.

At least I wouldn't have minded except for the lampshade I have to wear that makes me look like I drank too much at a party and fell into the lamp snout first. I mean, seriously, look at this thing. Does this look like something any self-respecting dog would choose to wear? I look like a satellite dish with a head.

I guess it's to keep me from licking where the vet did his thing, but what good's a sore if a dog can't lick it? Plus, I can't get to any other spots. What's up with that?

Hopefully, I won't have to wear this thing too much longer. After all, somewhere there's a lamp going around topless. And if you've even seen a lamp go topless, you know it's not a pretty sight.

Bark. Bark. Howl.

Got A Bone to Pick (I Wish)

A big shout out to my fellow K-9s and K-9 servants, I mean lovers. I don’t know if I’m sticking my snout into a hornet’s nest or not, but there’s something that’s gotten under my fur and I just need to howl about it. (I think my humans would call it having a bone to pick, but if I had a bone to pick I wouldn’t be here. I’d be somewhere else with that bone. Just saying.)

Did you ever wonder why our humans feel the need to talk to us sometimes as if we’re babies? What’s up with that? You know what I mean, that high-pitched, whiny, sing-songey tone they use to try and sound cute when they talk to us. It kind of reminds me of one of those high-pitched whistles some people have that only us dogs can hear. Thankfully, my humans don’t have one. If they did, I’d find the darned thing and bury it in the back yard. Or maybe I’d just take it outside and leave my mark on it, if you know what I mean. I’m sure most of you fellow four-leggers would do the same.

What really gets to me is when they combine that high voice with slow, drawn-out tones: “Wooood Ollll-eee like a tree-ttt?” It’s kind of like listening to a talking snail on helium. Come to think of it, I’d like to hear that.

Humans must think us dogs are stupid or something. Not that I mind that too much. It keeps the expectations low. Heck, I only have to hold up my paw when they say “shake” or howl when they ask me to “sing” (I’m a tenor, by the way) and I get a treat. I’m just glad they don’t ask me to do real work.

All in all, I guess I can put up with high-pitched talking if it makes them feel good. After all, without me, what reason would they have for living? I tell you, it ain’t easy being this stinking cute at my age. A dog’s work is never done.

Excuse me now fellow pooch pals. I’m off to see if I can find a bone to pick. Bark. Bark. Howl.

 

Another Birthday, Another Christmas - Yes, It's All About Me

A big howl-out to everyone. It’s been a while since my last entry, but I’m back. Truth be told, I haven’t had much to say. My humans don’t take me out much as I don’t much fancy sharing space with the other man’s best friend wannabes in the neighborhood. People I like. They pet me and feed me and stuff. Other dogs just want to take my food. That’s how I roll (over, that is – a little dog humor there).

In the months since I last appeared on these pages (or whatever you call them since no paper is involved – what’s up with that?), things have been a bit quiet. Except for howling at the neighborhood dogs and the occasional passer-by, of course. There’s been the occasional trip out of town with my humans, but those were a little less frequent this past year. Something to do with what they call “work,” whatever that is. I have a hard enough time fitting in my naps with my eating and patrolling the yard as it is without adding something else to the mix.

Still, the year had a few good moments. In September, I turned nine, which some human said was like being 63 in people years. But, like they say, age is just a number, and I don’t understand numbers anyway. I’m a dog for Spot’s sake. I notice I have to stretch a bit more than I used to when I get up out of my bed. Otherwise, I feel pretty good, and I still like to mix it up with my humans once in a while, playing keep-away (they still call it fetch, humans are so cute that way) and doing a little roughhousing.

Christmas (I think that’s Latin or something for Canine’s Day) brought a couple of nice treats: a little bag of biscuits from one of my human’s friends (But what’s up with only giving me four? That’s barely enough for a taste.) and a Nylabone. I really love those, especially since they have saved me from an extra visit to the vet each year so they can play with my teeth. (They want to play with my teeth that badly, I’ll give them some teeth – right in the fleshy part where the sun don’t shine. If you catch my drift.)

I don’t much care for vets. They poke and prod and snip and trim. When was the last time a vet ever gave a dog anything back? Then they expect that a couple of measly treats will make up for all of that abuse. Not hardly. Plus, they really expect me to stand still through all of that when there are other dogs to check out and other things to smell? I don’t think so.

Well, I’ve gone on long enough. Besides, my other Christmas gift is calling me. It’s my new bed, and it gives me three beds throughout the house. (My humans just think it’s their house.) Typing this takes a lot out of me (I’m all paws), and I’m getting tired. Enjoy the new year. I hope it’s a good one for you. Get out and howl at the moon – or at the mailman, it’s all the same to me. Take a bite out of life (or a passing stranger), and get out and smell the roses, the grass, the trees, the bushes, visitors to the house. You know what I mean.

Later. Bark, bark, howl.

Why Does He Keep Smiling at Me?

Sometimes, my human can be most annoying. I'll give him an obvious look to let him know I desire something so that he can proceed to minister to my needs. And he'll just sit there and smile at me. It's so infuriating. Does he not understand dog?

What do I have to do to get him to respond in the way he should? And why should I have to do anything? Sometimes, it's enough to make a dog want to pick up his bone (or his ball) and go home. Except that I am home.

If it weren't for the fact that he feeds me, lets me outside, and lets me play keep-away with him, I'd consider trading in my human for someone else. After all, there has to be someone out there with an IQ higher than a can of Alpo who understands me.

Then again, seeing the problems humans have understanding each other, maybe I'm asking too much. They always seem to misinterpret, misunderstand, and misquote each other. No wonder they call dogs "man's best friend." They can't seem to communicate with one another well enough to get along.

Bark. Bark. Howl.

Just Checking In

I know I don't post on here often, but I don't always have a lot to say. What do you want from me? I'm a dog for heaven's sake.

How many times can I write about sleeping? I guess I can tell you I have two beds. That way, I'm always fairly close to a place to collapse when I get exhausted from howling at passing dogs or people or when it just gets to be too much having the house to myself.

I could also blog about the fact that I have to roll some stupid ball all over the house in order to get my food. Or the fact that the female human put some sort of plastic cover with little prickly tabs all over it on the places I used to like to get up an lay on when I have the house to myself.

Or maybe I could complain about the fact that the humans put me on a leash whenever they let me outside - all because of some hole in the fence that the neighbors won't fix. I tell you, Rodney Dangerfield has got nothing on me.

I guess I could write about all of those things, but that takes too much effort, and I'm tired. So instead of writing about any of those things, I think I'll go lay down and rest for a while. After all, a beagle needs his beauty sleep - all 18 hours of it.

Bark. Bark. Howl.