We went up to Vermont over the weekend. Just Mom, Beagle Man, and me. Things were strange. Beagle Man took me for a walk along French Hollow Road. Said we couldn’t do our usual hiking trail around Equinox Pond, because we weren’t supposed to be near anyone. We drove to the next town — Peru
Comments Off on But Where Are All The Little Red Duck Dogs?
For the first time since Matt and I made our pilgrimage to Nova Scotia in 2014 to pick out the then tiny and adorable four-week-old Kemba from his litter (“I’d like the one with the green collar, and the white flash on his nose”), I returned to Canada. Carol and I spent last weekend in
Not long after Ricky the Beagle passed on, Beagle Man announced to Mom that he needed another dog. “That’s fine,” Mom said, “as long as you understand one thing. He’ll be your dog. I won’t walk him. I won’t wake up with him. I won’t pick up his poop. And I won’t play with him.” I’m
Beagle Man and I were down at Compo Beach yesterday — and boy, was it a beautiful morning! (I hope you can make out the sun sparkling on the water in the photo, right.) I dashed over toward the cannons, as I always do, and when I got there, this lady started making a huge
Beagle Man always pats me on the head and tells me I’m a “good, good boy” — but I suppose could try to be even better . . . • I will keep my paws off the kitchen counter, and stay away from Mom’s chicken quesadillas. I’ll be happy with my same-old same-old kibble —
You guys all know how I feel about Beagle Man. I’d do anything with him, and I’d go anywhere with him. (Even though he didn’t take me on the Epilogue Trip.) But there’s one thing I have to say: He’s a little bit strict and stingy when it comes to food. He claims it’s for my health — I had a
So Mom’s been sharing all your Bourbon Trail adventures with me so far . . . been there, done that I say. Anyway, I’m actually enjoying my laissez-faire days around Westport. True, Mom refuses to take me to the beach . . . she said she can finally walk around the house with no sand
* * *COUNTDOWN: 15 DAYS TO LA/XC-6 * * * Beagle Man came home from Montauk at the end of September with all sorts of complaints about his back and his right shoulder. He tried to blame it all on me — as usual: You know, “all that tennis ball throwing, all that stick throwing.”
I guess I can’t really complain too much, since I spend most of the summer out in Amagansett, where I have a big sandy beach and a whole ocean to play in. But now that we’re back in WePo, I have to stick to this narrow strip of sand on the far side of the
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I heard Matt ask Beagle Man last weekend if he was throwing a beach birthday party for me next month — and Beagle Man said probably not. That would be two years straight with no party! All because Mom made fun of him for spending days and days planning and preparing and inviting everyone he