There Ain't No Easter Squirrel

The Beagle Posse, Tommy and Tuppence, came in the dog door, down the hall, and right into the back bedroom.  They didn't make their usual stop in the den for scratches, lap time, or food cadging. And they looked deeply downtrodden as they passed the door, tails and heads drooping, I swear I even heard Tuppy sniffling.

"Posse," I called. "Did something happen?"

"Don' wanna talk now, Food Guy," Tommy groaned. "Food Guy" is what they call me when they are too upset to remember my name.  In crisis, beagle brains pare it right down to essentials.  And food is THE essential. I knew the lever to use.

"Well, OK, don't talk, but just come in here and have a treat."  And in they came.  Still very (you'll pardon the expression) hangdog.

"Guys, let me help. Tell me."

"Can't," sighed Tommy. "The Labradoodle says dogs and humans can't talk to each other."

"That's silly. We talk all the time.  And I write it down. What Labradoodle?"

Tuppy, having moped in, said, "Visiting next door.  He says Labradoodles are the smartest, handsomest, most expensive dogs, and if they can't talk to humans, then cheap old rescue hound dogs sure can't."

"Oh," I said, "well, forget the Lab's self-evaluation, but the facts prove him wrong.  As far as I'm concerned, price and value have no relationship when considering dog worth.  We paid for you in love, not dollars, and you have paid it back.  Now, that 'doodle fool is just an arrogant bully, but I can tell you why you and I talk, and he can't talk to his human.

"The most important part of talking is not the mouth part, it is the ear part.  First, you have to listen. You have to hear.  Since you were puppies, I have listened to you, and you have been smart enough to listen to me--on most things. Plus," I inserted as an afterthought, "no Labradoodle has ever had a famous Rock n Roll song or Country song written about them, and hound dogs have several."

"Well, he said hounds were mutts."

"I think, Posse, a comment like that from a mixed-breed dog, you just have to let go."

My companions of both hearth and travel still seemed down.  I asked what else the bully had said.

"He told us there there's no Santa Claws," mumbled Tommy. "He said our humans bring the Christmas rawhide."

"Oh?" I said, "Well, have you ever been in the store and seen me buy Christmas rawhide?"

"No."

"And doesn't St. Claws find you even when you are in Nebraska or Arkansas for Christmas?"

"Uh, huh."

"So, he must be real."

"But what about the Fang Fairy?"

"Look, you lost your puppy teeth about ten years ago, and I don't think you're planning on losing any of what you have now, so that would be a discussion without bite, wouldn't it."  (That finally brought a groan and slight smiles from the hounds.)

"I do know this," said Tommy, "There used to be an Easter Bunny. That fool came to our house just once."

I conceded that rabbits who break into houses and beagles made a lethal, and noisy, mix.

Tuppy began to chuckle.  "Flop ear was hauling cotton tail. Eggs, jelly beans, and plastic grass flying like it was in a hurricane. 'Hoppin' down the bunny trail,' shoot, that sap was runnin' down the bunny trail."

"Yes," I said. "It wasn't one of your greatest days."

"Oh, yes it was," triumphed Tommy. "As good a day as that time the chipmunk got in the house in Indy."

"Please, guys, don't remind me of that day.  You tore up the bedroom trying to catch him. And left me with the mess." (ed. note: this was a true event.)

"That's what humans are for," said Tuppence. "Dog messes. I DO know this," smirked Tuppence, "there is no such thing as an Easter Squirrel."

"Yeah," said Tommy, "holiday or no holiday, no squirrel comes into a beagle house."

"None," said Tuppence.

"You're insane about squirrels," I said.  "Anything else?"

"Well," said Tommy, "He also said he didn't think I could be a Very Good Boy."

I almost bit the side of my cheek.  "Of course you are.  That's why you get treats."

"I could get more," said Tommy.

"Don't push it, Dog."

The Posse was finally sitting back and not looking glum.  Deep in the recall of rodent routs of time past.

"OK, dogs, are we over the sniffles from the nonsense of the pompous interloper?"

"Maybe," said Tommy.  "What does pompous mean? What's an interloper?"

"Never mind. Are we over the labradoodle?"

"Maybe, " said Tommy. "If we could have some bologna, we'd be over it."

"Or cheese," from Tuppence.

"Or bologna AND cheese," said Tommy.

"In a sandwich," said Tuppence.

Things were back to normal as they get.