42d Street Beagles

There I was, sitting on the couch with my laptop, doing the essential work of trading barbs on Face Book.  I could see into the kitchen, and one end of the hall.

The Beagle Posse would periodically come panting up the hall, trot straight to their water tower in the kitchen, gulp down mighty gulps, and dripping water from their jowls, purposefully head back down the hall.  And they hadn’t said a word to me in a couple of hours.  They were on a mission.

With each trip to the water bowl, the mud on the Posse became higher.  First just paws.  Then halfway up the front legs. Then to the shoulders.  When it got to the middle of their ears, I knew I should intervene.  This had all of the signs of previous chipmunk mining days, or similar rodent-centered prospecting in the back yard.

The next time he trotted by I said, “Tommy, stop.  What’s going on.”

He slurped, tossed, “No time” over his shoulder, and hustled back down the hall.

Next was Tuppence.  I tried to get her to explain.  She said, “Busy” and disappeared down the hall.  I could hear the dog door flapping as she rushed through.

I decided I better find out. I got the treats whistle, and a couple of chunks of cheese, and whistled for the dogs.  Nothing. They didn’t appear.  That was very strange.  No, that was unprecedented.  They can smell me get cheese from the fridge across a back lawn, through a closed door, and past 4 rooms.  And the whistle for treats always brings a rush of paws.

It was time to check.  I got my cane and headed down the hall to the back door.  No telling what was happening.  It could be an escape tunnel under the fence as they played “Stalag Beagle,” or even a new dog swimming pool being excavated.  The one thing I knew was it involved a lot of beagle work, and a lot of mud.  This very combination was known to wreak havoc on both carpets and upholstery.

I looked out the sliding glass doors to the patio.  Tommy had a cave excavated under one edge, and was chest deep in it, flinging dirt and gravel out.  Tuppence was fixated with her nose pressed into one of the joints in the concrete, obviously fully inhaling whatever was under there, and serving as some kind of digging GPS system for Tommy.

I slid the door open, whistled again, and held out the cheese.  Tuppence looked up, moving only her head, and Tommy reluctantly backed out of his tunnel—presenting mud dog for inspection.  

“WHAAAT?” they both said impatiently.

When beagles ignore cheese in hand, there is definite dogduggery in play.

I was exasperated.  “Dogs, I thought we had this patio tunneling stopped.  We had to buy 4 bags of pea gravel, and two bags of sand to fill in the other tunnels you dug.”

“We found a new place,” said Tommy.

“I smell ‘em,” said Tuppence, “and Tommy found their burrow.”

“What ‘them’?” I asked.

“We’re not sure,” said Tommy, and headed back to his cave.

“Wait!” I said. “You’re tearing up the yard, undermining the patio, and you don’t know what you’re chasing?”

Tuppence looked up and sang, “Some enchanted evening, you may smell a rodent, you may smell a rodent across a crowded yard.”

Not to be outdone, Tommy began rhythmlicly clicking a claw on the concrete and sang, “When you’re a Beag, you’re a Beag all the way, from your first rabbit catch ‘til your last dying day.”

No good comes from letting beagles listen to Broadway show tunes.

“That doesn’t answer the question.   What are you chasing?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Tommy.  “Process is important, not outcome.”

“The only outcome I see is a couple of muddy dogs who are going to need baths before climbing into bed tonight.”

Tommy said, “No, we’ll just wipe the mud off on your sheets.”

I tried not to explode.  I really did.  But I was building a head of steam like a fundamentalist preacher at a Pride Parade.

Tuppence gave a low growl and said, “Bath?  Have you met my pearly white friends Mr. Cay and Mr. Nine?”

We had some paving stones waiting to be used in a garden path.  A couple of those blocked the new Tommy tunnel.  Tommy just sat staring at it.  Then he looked up and said, “Well, when does the stone roll away?”

I said, “Tommy, that’s a different story all together.”  And he began sniffing along the edges of the patio looking for a new location.

Tuppence was still sitting at my feet just inside the dog door.  I slid the human door closed, and she got up and strutted through the dog door.

As she made her entrance onto the patio, I heard Tommy sing, “Well, Hello, Tuppence, yes, hello, Tuppence, it’s so nice to see you back where you belong…..”

I’m not going to win this, am I?