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
My first summer out here in Amagansett — the summer of ’15, when I was 10 months old — I did something that really freaked out Beagle Man and Mom. Beagle Man had gone for a bike ride, and I was hanging with Mom on the deck outside their bedroom. Then she decided to go for her
Of course my first MY PALS column is about Ruckus: He’s more than my pal — he’s my brother. We do everything together. Everything. If I pee, he’ll pee right over it. Same spot. And vice versa. When we get separated, we’re both really sad. While we’re together, though, we play nonstop. Ruckus always wins tug-of-war. Wrestling,
All right, here’s the prize break-down in Matt’s 45-man March Madness pool: First place: $1,250; second place: $600; third place: $300; fourth place: $50; last place: $50 worth of (top-quality) toilet paper. And though Beagle Man won’t come out and say it, I know what he’s thinking: that he’s gonna win the whole shebang. Just listen to him,
There’s something strange going on. Listen to this. Duke, a new dog, came to visit me in Vermont weekend before last. He was cute and curly — a Labradoodle, I think. At first he seemed kind of wimpy when I started wrestling with him (the way I do with Ruckus all the time), but I have
Finally . . . back in the saddle! Vermont this time. But only after spending seven consecutive nights under the same roof! Can you imagine?! For one full week I didn’t get to sniff out a new motel room! Or sit and watch Beagle Man check every closet and every drawer before pushing the luggage cart out to the parking
