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I have a bone to pick with a piece I saw a while back in the sports section of The New York Times — which I do read, by the way, even if it’s “failing.” It was called “Two New Breeds With Really Long Names” (Jan. 24, by The Associated Press) and it started this way: “Two new
I’m gonna be perfectly honest with you: I usually don’t give small dogs the time of day. I’m not a huge fan of their yappy tough-guy act, and it’s easier to just ignore them. Which is exactly what I’m thinking when Robby’s friends Rob and Charlotte show up at the Vermont house a week ago
Beagle Man is an Instagram addict. We all know this. When he makes me pose for photos, at first I’m flattered. Then it dawns on me: He’s thinking post. True fact: After going to a football game a couple of weeks ago, during which he posted —of course — he and Matt were looking forward to a
Yep, here I am, back home at the beach after my two weeks at “sleep-away camp.” (Don’t worry, I never fell for that sleep-away camp story. I’m not stupid. I just played along because I could tell how guilty Beagle Man felt about sending me.) Actually, my “counselor” Marlon turned out to be a pretty
I’ll bet most of you have figured out by now that Beagle Man is a creature of habit. That’s why, when he walks through the door at Jack’s Coffee in Amagansett in the morning, Brian, the manager, will say, “The Hank-wich?” (That’s egg-and-cheese on a baguette, FYI, which Beagle Man orders every single day.) And Chanisse
A few weeks ago, we moved from the only house I’ve ever known. (Not counting Shelley and Steve’s, in Ardoise, Nova Scotia — but that was only for 10 weeks, and to be perfectly honest, I only know about that because Beagle Man told me so.) It was weird: Little by little, stuff started disappearing.
Beagle Man and I have a joke about Mom. We call her “Miss Useless.” Here’s why. Let’s say I bring a tennis ball to Beagle Man. Will he throw it? Of course! Robby? Yes. Greg? Yes. Matt? Yes. But Mom? Never. I’ll drop the ball right in her lap while she’s reading — and she’ll
I heard Luz telling Mom the other day she’d read that Duck Tollers are the 25th smartest dog breed. I actually think that’s a low-ball number. The rankings were put together by this researcher named Stanley Coren (photo, below), and they’re in his book, The Intelligence of Dogs. He surveyed, like, 200 dog-obedience judges for his
I’m not gonna lie: We didn’t hit it off right away, Rosie and me. It felt kind of like one of those arranged marriages you hear about. Just because Tana and Beagle Man want to hang out on the bench in front of Jack’s Coffee with their breakfast sandwiches and their cold brews, doesn’t mean
Hey, it’s me. Kemba. Again. Yup, that’s three posts in a row from me: A MY PALS (Ruckus); a Duck Dog Speaks (Salty Dog), and now another MY PALS. Anyone get the feeling that Beagle Man isn’t doing a whole lot of blogging while we’re out here at the beach? He keeps saying that he’s