A Beagle In My Life

There was a beagle in my back yard. His head was red with a white muzzle. His neck and most of his back were black. A white patch at his shoulders broke up the black. A white line also extended across his lower back from white rear leg to white rear leg as though someone had clearly marked the border between his black back and his red rump. The beagle walked up to me with his tail lazily waging. He sniffed my legs and looked up at me with those big hound dog eyes. I had no idea where he came from. He wore a collar but there were no tags attached to it. I gently patted him on the head. He wagged his tail a little faster to let me know my gesture of friendship was accepted. Then he started sneezing. When he finished sneezing he started coughing. It was a hacking cough. I looked over at my brother, Randy, who was now sitting at the patio table.

“That’s our new beagle,” he said.

We already had an old miniature schnauzer that was costing me a fortune in veterinarian bills. I was not exactly thrilled about having another sick dog.

“Where’d you get him?”

“At the city pound. They were going to euthanize him today.”

Randy could not have come up with a better explanation. He knew the idea of someone killing this dog would be as repulsive to me as it was to him.

“Well, I hope he doesn’t give his kennel cough and whatever else he has to Mabel,” I said referring to our schnauzer.

“I’m keeping them separated. I’ve already taken him to the vet, and she gave me some anti-biotic pills for him.”

Randy then went on to describe his adventure at the veterinarian’s. He knew that what the beagle had was contagious so he left the dog in the cab of the truck rather than taking it into the office. He described the dog’s symptoms and was instructed to take it to the back door. The vet who greeting him there was the one that was particularly fond of Mabel. She scolded Randy for bringing an infectious dog to her office and warned him about the threat that the beagle’s illness posed to Mabel. Her objection to the threat posed to Mabel seemed fair enough, but her objection to Randy taking the beagle to her for treatment did not.

“Where else am I supposed to take a sick dog?” he asked me. “It’s not like vets make house calls up here.”

“Did you get into an argument with her about that?”

“No, I saw no reason to waste my breath as long as she was treating the poor guy.”

“That sounds like a wise decision.”

“I thought so.”

We confined the beagle to the back of our house. My nephew was occupying the spare bedroom there. As sick as the beagle was he still did not like being alone, and he was soon sharing that bedroom with my nephew. The confinement of the beagle to this part of the house was not a problem for the first three days. He was too sick to want to do much, and he spent most of his time sleeping. On the fourth day, however, he was getting restless. He wanted to socialize with us and find his place in our pack. Since keeping him confined seemed cruel Randy gave him access to the rest of the house. Mabel has always been good with other dogs. But now that she was older and less frisky, she tried to keep her distance from younger dogs. This was fortunate because it made it less likely that she would get what the beagle had.

The beagle seemed eager to please us, but it was soon apparent that he had a mind of his own. “He’s stubborn,” my mother said. “I think we should name him Beau.”

I do not know why mom associated “Beau” with stubborn, but Randy and I agreed that it was a good name for him. It took Beau fourteen days to get rid of the sneezing and coughing. We had been afraid to bathe him when he was so sick, but it was now time to wash off the dirt he had picked up in the dogie prison where he had been incarcerated for committing the unpardonable crime of being abandoned. Randy gave him a bath, toweled him down, and draped the towel over him. Beau then pulled the towel off and spread it out on the floor. He rolled over with his back on the towel and wiggled; then he rolled over on his stomach and dried it with the towel as well.

We were amazed. Neither of us had ever seen a dog use a towel like this before. Unfortunately, it was soon apparent that Beau sill had some problems. His ears and butt were itching. He was scheduled for an examination anyhow, so we took him to the vet. When we entered the examination room we saw that the vet who was fond of Mabel was there. Her assistant smiled at Beau and prepared to restrain him so the vet could examine him.

“He’s a charmer,” I said. “He has all of the characteristics of a beagle, which means he’s very lovable but a bit difficult.”

“More than a bit,” the vet said. “Beagles are stubborn and hard to train.” It was obvious that beagles were not her favorite breed of dog. She then asked about Mabel.

Randy tried to assure the vet on that score by telling her Mabel was doing fine. At least Mabel did not catch Beau’s kennel cough. We will find out how well she is doing with her liver problems next week when she is scheduled for her regular tests.

The vet cleaned Beau’s ears and put medicated drops in them. She then expressed his anal glands to treat his itching butt. The odor caused by expressing his anal glands might be important to a dog, but saying it is unpleasant to a human would be an understatement. Since we do not know what vaccinations Beau received before we adopted him the vet gave him booster shots.

When we got in the cab of the truck to leave we noticed that Beau absolutely reeked from having his anal glands expressed. The vet had carefully explained how to express anal glands when she performed the procedure, but I do not think Randy was paying much attention. I know I was not.

“How much did the vet charge for pinching that stuff out of the dog’s ass?”

I looked at the invoice. “Twenty dollars.”

Randy smiled. “I’ll gladly pay her that to keep my finger out of his ass.”

I told him it sounded like a bargain to me. It is more than a matter of where you are putting your finger, it is also a matter of stinking up any place where you are performing the procedure.

Randy washed Beau, toweled him off, and draped the towel over Beau’s back. Then he used disinfectant to wash the dog smell out of the tub. He fully expected Beau to use the towel the same way he had used it before. Beau, however, had something else in mind. It is difficult to know what a dog is thinking; perhaps it was the shots or the indignity of having his butt pinched or having goop poured into his ears or just a dog’s rotten sense of humor that made Beau do it, but he got up on Randy’s bed and rolled around. Now Randy had to wash the blankets that were on his bed or put up with the smell of wet dog. I am sure Beau and I found that more amusing than Randy did.

I do not doubt for a moment that Beau has a sense of humor. Five or six people are in the habit of walking their dogs by our place in the evening. When Beau sees them he howls like a hound dog on the chase, and he charges the fence facing the road. This scares the hell out of the dog walkers and really excites their dogs. A steep hill slopes down to our fence. A rather large dog almost pulled its mistress over the edge and down the slope. This nice lady used to pause and exchange greetings with us. Not any more. She now goes to the other side of the street where she is out of Beau’s view. So do the other dog walkers who have been treated to Beau’s display. Beau still knows when they are passing by, but since he cannot see their reactions to what he does he has scaled back his efforts a bit. Physical humor is not funny when you cannot see it.

All right, I have to admit it. I cannot say I have actually seen Beau laugh about scaring people who are walking their dogs. What I can say is that he loves people and other dogs, and he wags his tail while howling and charging the fence. He also saves his best material for any unsuspecting person walking a dog on our side of the street. Since pedestrians who are not walking dogs only get a distinctive hound dog woof out of Beau he does not scare those people enough to make them avoid our side of the street. There may be some territorial instinct involved in his fence charging antics, but I honestly think Beau wants to play with the other dogs. I would not rule out the humor motive, either. He is a very bright dog.

Bright dogs are nice when they are co-operating with you, but they are a problem when they are following their own whims. When smart dogs get bored they are far too inclined to amuse themselves by doing things you are not going to like. Beau requires more watching and more attention than most of the dogs I have had. Although it is annoying when he gets into things or tests our rules I am still glad we have him. A single word or touch is enough to get him wagging his tail. His cheerfulness makes me smile a lot. Even Mabel is showing some signs of liking him, although she does miss the nice lady who used to stop and talk her before Beau scared that lady to the other side of the road.

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Aug 23, 2011