Dear Goddamned Beagle,
It’s my fault, really.
I called a couple of your new Aunties to say how great you are. Sure, you’re a puppy, but that’s not permanent. Puppies either grow up or are murdered. Either way, they don’t stay in destructive form for long.
I gushed about how wonderful you are with all humans of all sizes, colors, ages, and styles. How you simply get all squinty when they walk in from any door or direction, and thump your tail, expecting nothing less or more than some cooing and a few kisses. And possibly their lunch.
I marveled at your ability to sleep in the crate in our room from 10:00 pm til 6:00 am with only a few whimpers of complaint.
Though you came with zero book learnin’ installed, I bragged about how you’ve now learned your name, Alice, and have a lightning turn-around when you hear it, even outside where you’re not so sure about stuff. Cars, noises, wind, trucks and buses are scary, but you’ll get used to things for food. Birds and squirrels are worth stopping and watching for many minutes at a time, and now you’ll even respond to your name when that’s going on.
I swooned at your dog savviness. Though I’m being careful about who you meet right now—you’re only six months old after all—your brief interaction with a blood cousin on the street and a couple of rowdy Boston Terriers impressed me. You were more than up for whatever play style was offered, and when things got a little over the top, you were able to take a break and even nap. When you woke up you were ready for more, but didn’t demand it. You even stayed in your crate, out of sight of us having dinner while the Bostons got to be in the room where it happened.
The Things brought up the giant dogs while you were sleeping. Lucy the old lady Lab had “What fresh hell is this” painted on her face as you oozed yourself under her head where she lay on the floor. After a few tries, you bounced onto the humans for some play, leaving her in peace.
Meanwhile, Leo the Dane mix, all sweet, one hundred brainless pounds of him, grabbed your toys one at a time and brought them to me to throw for him. I did not—I’m not that stupid—but still, every single one of your toys. You did not guard them, or me. You simply prostrated yourself in front of him at every conceivable opportunity, begging him to play with you. He did not, until for one brief moment you overdid it and appeared yourself to be a squeak toy. A light hand on Leo from a Thing redirected him to better activities, and you walked over to the fireplace and lay down.
Later, I sat you next to me on the big chair, pulled out the dremel, and we turned on Youtube. I told you about Idiots in Cars and what to pay attention to. Those four-way traffic lights are always a problem. You did not like the dremel at all, but you discovered that looking at it got cookies, even when it was turned off. Then when it touched your feet you got better cookies, which was fairly awesome. Then when I turned it on you wondered where the hell the cookies were, so I suggested they were waiting for a nail. You sat up and leaned against the cushion like one of those cats who smells something bad, and one at a time we did your nails, with some excellent snacking between each one.
A few hours later I caught you staring at the dremel on the table, and then at me.
I’d been gone a lot over the weekend dealing with a move, and rushed home to take you to meet your Grand Geezer. We had not been in a car together except for the ride home from the airport five days ago, when you rode in a friend’s arms. This time I “desensitized you” by slapping a harness on you, jamming you in the car seat, slipping the seatbelt on, and saying “Don’t strangle yourself please, I’m in a hurry.”
Sitting upright in the dark, you furrowed your brow as I backed out of the driveway.
Then you lay down and took a nap.
We got to the retirement home where I signed us in and told you about elevators, and how they’re rooms that move. The door opened, and a wheel chair with poles and bags and possible tinsel came wheeling out. The person pushing it was wearing a long, flapping robe.
You glanced up at the pair of people and the chair they were riding and rolling, and charged into the elevator, nose up and sniffing. It’s possible they’d been carrying snacks on them in there.
When we arrived on the second floor you happily entered your Grand Geezers room and greeted him and his helper with all the sniffs and kisses you had time for, given how much they’d apparently left lying around on the floor.
So on the way back from the retirement place I just had to call the Aunties and tell them all the good news.
I am, puppy, a fucking idiot.
My house looks like a swanky maximum security prison right now, with several x-pen gates snaked across various doorways and openings. Toys are strewn everywhere. Things for you to chew on are plentiful, and you often avail yourself of them, which is why I think I didn’t notice that you were not in my immediate sightline as I sat scrolling on my phone.
I looked around, but you were nowhere to be seen.
That is a bad feeling, dog.
My nose led me to where you were in the dining room, indeed dining on the poop you’d just deposited on the fancy rug. I yelled, interrupting your snack. Hurling you back behind the gate where you belonged I cleaned up the mess, and walked in to find you’d peed on the rug.
Welcome to your first death threat, beagle.
I brushed your teeth, hoping you’d hate it but you didn’t seem to mind.
Jerk.
We went to bed, and you whined and complained so much that at 2:30 in the morning I finally took you downstairs and out into the cold. Yes, you peed, but I had the feeling it was just to humor me.
This morning at six I got up. You ramped up your complaining, but I ignored you and walked into the bathroom to take my shower. I was just rinsing my hair when you walked in.
I guess day five was the day you learned how to undo zippers on crates from the inside.
Hurrying out, I found my wastebasket emptied and shredded all over my room. While you were having a grand old time zooming around and bouncing off the furniture, I was soaking wet and freezing. I called you into the bathroom and closed the door. You looked at me and peed on the bathmat.
Saying how good your puppy is, is like saying it’s a quiet night when you work in the ER.
Wise people, especially professionals, never, ever say such things.
I forgot myself.
At any rate, welcome to the family, dear goddamned dog.
As the Dread Pirate Roberts says to Westley in The Princess Bride:
Good work. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.
Love,
Your Person
Dear Subscribers,
I’ve moved the blog to this Substack because the spammers are winning over on the website, and I can’t keep up. I hope you’ll stick with me here as I’ve valued and so appreciated your company, comments, and readership over the years.
I’ll be populating this site with all the past posts from the website over the next week or so.
And yes, while I am clearly certifiable for having taken on a puppy, I haven’t laughed or even smiled this much since I lost the Beagz.
Should I survive the house training part of this, it’s going to be a fun ride. Thank you for taking that ride with me.
Love,
Marjie
P.S. I publish another Substack of not necessarily dog-related content called Pieces of String Too Small To Use here if you’d like to check it out.
Brace yourself, Marjie. I've never had the courage to get an actual beagle puppy but of the three younger beagles I've had (12 months, 20 months, 21 months) they all had the "chewies" until they were almost 3. My current beagle girl ate the handle off her crate from the inside after we got her. Young beagles clearly require a lot of fiber in their diet -- hats, shoes, socks, underwear, retainers, blankets, dog beds, glasses....
Congratulations on being adopted by Alice. She is adorable.
You might try a dogdoor if you have electric to reinforce your fence. Run a strand of electric about 4" off the ground and 4"-to-6" inside the fence. Haven't had a beagle dig out now in almost 25 years. If you live in an area with predators, you can run another stand along the top or just outside the top of the fence. I have the only 4' deer fence in north Idaho and have never had to worry about coyotes, bear or cougar getting to my littles.
Looking forward to many more posts about you & Alice!
Awesomeness! I hope Alice doesn’t also develop a taste for golf balls, especially broken ones which golfers will toss away.
I have it on good authority they are not suitable for a dog’s digestive system, even if their nose is finely attuned to snuffling them out of the ground,. Apparently that hard cement like substance isn’t the thing to feed dogs, oh and vet says it’s also toxic. Probably bad for the teeth too.
Good luck surviving Alice.