The Toot Scoop.

Beagle clocks only have 4 numbers on them. There is: Breakfast o'clock; Milk Bone o'clock (known otherwise as Elevenses); Supper o'clock; and Evening Rawhide o'clock.

They have no need of 12 or 24 divisions of the day. Instead of minutes, they divide the above major markers by naps and squirrel frenzies. For instance, one would say, “It was two and a half squirrel frenzies past Breakfast.” And that would be specific enough for beagle needs.

The Posse was having a relaxing Sunday watching the front channel on beagle TV, it was about 2 squirrel frenzies and a nap past Milk Bone, when someone came walking down the street with three handsome black dogs—probably Labs, but in beaglese, there are only two breeds, “beagle” and “not beagle.”

The Posse began it's usual braying dissertation on canine looks, ancestry, and county-wide property rights. At the same instant they both notice that one of the labs is wearing a cone. They go silent as abruptly as O'Reilly turning off a liberal guest's microphone.

A Posse look passes, as they start trying to figure out what they are seeing. Tommy speaks up first, “It's a Squirreldar antenna. It focuses his rodent radar so he can zero in. I want one.”

Tuppence snorts. “I've been to the vet. I know what that is. It's a torture device evil humans put on dogs to keep them from licking the things that really need licking.”

Tommy's trusting heart is confused. “Humans wouldn't do something that mean, would they?”

Tuppence replies, “You think not? How many balls do you have left?”

The Posse, being an even number, has no method of breaking a tie vote. So, each impasse must be settled by a thundering, tumbling, snarling, yipping discussion up and down the hall. Sometimes it takes three trips to reach consensus. Each Posse meeting requires several of these tie-breakers.

After they finished, a panting Tommy said, “Yep, Squirreldar. I want one.”

Tuppy says, “No dog wants one. They look silly.”

Tommy stretched and said, “I'D look studly.”

Tuppy shook her ears and asked, “Studly? Again, how many balls do you have left?”

Tommy looked to the side channel of beagle TV and muttered. “I'd look GOOD.”

Then Tuppy yips in epiphany. “I know what that is. It's an air scoop, like on the front of a jet. It helps scoop up air you can store up and use for passing wind. Yeah, it's a good idea after all.”

I had to finally speak up. “The last thing I want around here is something that will make you two gassier.”

Tommy shot back, “Yeah, well, you blame us no matter who toots.”

They both nodded and said, “Yep, a Toot Scoop. Cool.”

They then closed the discussion by turning their backs, sitting down, and beginning to lick anything they felt needed licking.