Beagles will drive you nuts.
My first clue that something was wrong was when I called, “Posse,” and no dogs came into the room.
The Beagle Posse had spent a horrible, beaglecentric, destructive morning, and I really needed to discuss their behavior with them, and see if we could settle on some consequences. I had spent most of the morning on an errand to help a friend. When I got home, from clear out front on the drive I could hear the two yipping, yapping, squeaking, and squealing in the back yard. Sure signs of varmint pursuit and digging—mining for chipmunks. I went to get a snack and glass of water, figuring that the sound of the fridge opening, and the crinkle of cookie package wrapping would bring them running. It always does.
They didn’t show. This must have been a serious Rodent Rooter episode. Who knew how deep they had dug, or would dig. I called again. They didn’t show up, and the noise continued. I didn’t know how long it had been going on, but was sure it was beginning to bug at least some of the neighbors. So, I went to the sliding glass doors looking onto the patio and back yard. There is a 2 foot wide top-to-bottom insert we have put in beside the sliding door. It has the dog door in it, and is the way the Posse can come and go. I could see them, or at least their back ends, head down at the corner of the house and the patio, mud flying as they frantically tried to fit themselves down a chipmunk burrow.
I slid open the door and called again. No response. So, I went to firm voicing of individual names, “Tommy! Tuppence! Get in here. “ They finally looked up, and with regretful glances at their work in progress, came through the door. My mistake. They were mud to the knees, and proceeded to transfer that to the carpet and my pants legs. When I slid the door closed, and they thought I was going to trap them inside, they scooted out the dog door before I could put the drop shield in place. Then, NO amount of calling or coaxing would get them back in.
As the high-pitched prey pursuit sounds continued, I went in and got some dog treats. I took them to the door, got the dog gate in one hand, treats in the other, and called Tommy and Tuppence. For a treat they came in reluctantly, and just as I gave it to them, I dropped the gate, locking them indoors. They were still muddy, there was still going to be a mess to clean up, but they were no longer bothering neighbors, digging up the yard, or terrifying munks.
My first clue that something was wrong was when I called, “Posse,” and no dogs came into the room.
The Beagle Posse had spent a horrible, beaglecentric, destructive morning, and I really needed to discuss their behavior with them, and see if we could settle on some consequences. I had spent most of the morning on an errand to help a friend. When I got home, from clear out front on the drive I could hear the two yipping, yapping, squeaking, and squealing in the back yard. Sure signs of varmint pursuit and digging—mining for chipmunks. I went to get a snack and glass of water, figuring that the sound of the fridge opening, and the crinkle of cookie package wrapping would bring them running. It always does.
They didn’t show. This must have been a serious Rodent Rooter episode. Who knew how deep they had dug, or would dig. I called again. They didn’t show up, and the noise continued. I didn’t know how long it had been going on, but was sure it was beginning to bug at least some of the neighbors. So, I went to the sliding glass doors looking onto the patio and back yard. There is a 2 foot wide top-to-bottom insert we have put in beside the sliding door. It has the dog door in it, and is the way the Posse can come and go. I could see them, or at least their back ends, head down at the corner of the house and the patio, mud flying as they frantically tried to fit themselves down a chipmunk burrow.
I slid open the door and called again. No response. So, I went to firm voicing of individual names, “Tommy! Tuppence! Get in here. “ They finally looked up, and with regretful glances at their work in progress, came through the door. My mistake. They were mud to the knees, and proceeded to transfer that to the carpet and my pants legs. When I slid the door closed, and they thought I was going to trap them inside, they scooted out the dog door before I could put the drop shield in place. Then, NO amount of calling or coaxing would get them back in.
As the high-pitched prey pursuit sounds continued, I went in and got some dog treats. I took them to the door, got the dog gate in one hand, treats in the other, and called Tommy and Tuppence. For a treat they came in reluctantly, and just as I gave it to them, I dropped the gate, locking them indoors. They were still muddy, there was still going to be a mess to clean up, but they were no longer bothering neighbors, digging up the yard, or terrifying munks.
I returned to my snack.
The Beagle Posse day was just beginning.
They did come in through the kitchen for water, and to
totally track a freshly mopped floor with mud.
Then they disappeared. I figured
they were just sulking. Beagles can be right up there with cats on the
Sulk-o-meter.
After a period of silence, I unmistakably heard yipping from the back yard again.
After a period of silence, I unmistakably heard yipping from the back yard again.
This required investigation.
On the way to the bedroom, I discovered SOMEBODY had been
ticked off enough about the closed dog door that they had peed in the hall. Then there was the thoroughly mudded bedroom
carpet and bed spread. And this trail
led to the door, where they had torn out the weather stripping between the dog
door insert and the sliding door, leaving shredded foam all over, and had then
put paw or something into the gap, slid the door open, and gotten out.
So, I went out grabbed collars, drug them in, put the safety lock pole in the sliding door panel, and walked away to cool off.
So, I went out grabbed collars, drug them in, put the safety lock pole in the sliding door panel, and walked away to cool off.
And that brings us up to the point of having to have the
discussion of malfeasance and consequences.
I sat in my favorite chair and called them in. “Posse,” I said, “Do you have any explanation or excuse for your messes this morning?”
And they sat and looked at me like they couldn’t talk, and didn’t understand a word I was saying.
Now, we all know, the Beagle Posse talks. There’s about 50 or so posts on this very blog proving that they can. But, in this instance, they sat mute. Tuppence cocked her head to the side in the universal dog “trying to figure this out” pose, and Tommy just bent down and began to lick…….beagle parts. Silence.
“Well, “ I demanded, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Nothing.
“If you don’t say something, I’m going to have to put in the blog how naughty you were, and how you refused to explain yourself. Your fans will be very disappointed.”
Silence.
“You two are in big trouble.”
They looked at each other, then took to the couch to express deep remorse. And nap. (See photo above.)
I sat in my favorite chair and called them in. “Posse,” I said, “Do you have any explanation or excuse for your messes this morning?”
And they sat and looked at me like they couldn’t talk, and didn’t understand a word I was saying.
Now, we all know, the Beagle Posse talks. There’s about 50 or so posts on this very blog proving that they can. But, in this instance, they sat mute. Tuppence cocked her head to the side in the universal dog “trying to figure this out” pose, and Tommy just bent down and began to lick…….beagle parts. Silence.
“Well, “ I demanded, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Nothing.
“If you don’t say something, I’m going to have to put in the blog how naughty you were, and how you refused to explain yourself. Your fans will be very disappointed.”
Silence.
“You two are in big trouble.”
They looked at each other, then took to the couch to express deep remorse. And nap. (See photo above.)
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