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.

Three Years

Well, it's coming up on three years since I moved in with my current humans. (The less said about the previous four-plus years the better.) All in all, it's been a pretty good three years.

For three years, they've fed me pretty well. None of that cut-rate supermarket stuff, although a few scraps from the dinner table now and then wouldn't go amiss.

They let me play keep-away with them. (They like to call it fetch, but what's in a name?) They take me for rides in the truck from time to time and let me enjoy and explore new places when we take out the big rolling doghouse. (I think they call it a fifth-wheel, but I only see four. Maybe humans can't count so good.) They also don't get too upset when I throw up on the carpet, although the female human doesn't seem to find it very amusing.

However, I do have one beef with them. (Beef. Now there's something else I could go for in my diet. Hint, hint.) They no longer let me run free in the back yard. What's up with that?

Okay, so I did get out through a hole in the fence a few times, but I didn't go that far. Even so, now when they let me out, they put me on a long leash. I now have even less chance of catching squirrels or cats when I chase after them. I'm becoming the laughing stock of the animal kingdom.

They also started putting plastic with little knobby things on some of the furniture when they aren't using it. You'd think they didn't want me on it or something.

Still, life after three years with these humans is pretty good. I get plenty of food, plenty of rest (a dog needs his beauty sleep, after all), and plenty of lap time. Life around here isn't perfect, but a beagle could do worse.

Bark. Bark. Woof.

Thoughts on Middle Age

I recently turned the big "7." I can feel my age now and then; I move a little more slowly when I first get up from one of my delicious naps. I need to stretch a bit more to get all the parts moving.

Of course, I can't let my humans see me slowing down. It just wouldn't be right. After all, I can still run fast enough to keep the ball away from them, only letting them have it when they're about to lose interest. It's not like I'm ready to join the AARB (Association for the Advancement of Retired Beagles) or anything like that.

Still, age does have a few benefits. I can justify sleeping longer and more often, not that I ever felt the need to justify what is my divine right as a regal Beagle. And I can get away with claiming more lap time from my humans.

With age also come wisdom or at least an increased ability to drive my humans crazy. Lately, I've taken to staring at my humans and also pacing by the back door in an attempt to be let outside. What makes this more fun is doing these things just a few minutes after coming back in from the previous trip outdoors. This is also a great game to play when your humans are in the middle of doing something, especially if you can it seem urgent that you be let out at that very moment.

I've heard humans say a mind is a terrible thing to waste, but a devious mind is a wonderful thing to employ and enjoy.

Bark. Bark. Growl.

Ollie's Big Adventure

This week, I got a taste of some real freedom. Thanks to the fact that the fence around my humans' house is almost falling down in spots (no one seems to know who the fence belongs to, which is great for me), I found a spot to squeeze through, and I was gone.

Ah, the new sights and new scents! So much to see; so much to smell. Unfortunately for me, when I escaped our yard and got through a neighbor's yard, I turned the wrong way and ended up at the end of a dead-end street. So I couldn't make a complete getaway.

When my female human discovered I'd broken out, I guess she was worried because she came running. She was so cute; she seemed so worried when she spotted me. Not that I was. I was having too much fun.

However, I was at the end of a road, and I didn't feel like trying to crawl through plant life and who knows what to get somewhere else. So when my female human called for me, I swallowed my pride and my desire for freedom and adventure and came running. If I'd known how much she was going to carry on afterward about the fact that I came back, I probably would have thought twice about doing so.

I probably would have still come back, though, at least this time. My male human takes pretty good care of me; he feeds me and gives me water. Plus, he would probably miss not being able to pet me or have me sleep in his lap. And it's not like I can get room service just anywhere.

But now that I've had a small taste of freedom, the attraction is strong. One day, not even the promise of a treat may be enough to bring me back. So they might want to think about fixing the fence, regardless of whose it is.

Bark. Bark. Growl.