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
I haven’t really complained to Beagle Man yet, but I can tell you guys: I’ve kind of had it with life on the road. I don’t like these Best Westerns nearly as much as the Loews Santa Monica Beach Hotel. And I’m sick of the car. I don’t even care if I can have the shotgun seat.
At 11 o’clock this morning, Beagle Man posted —and I quote — “He’s been an absolutely perfect and wonderful dog so far on this trip.” That’s me he’s talking about, just so you know. One hour later, he’s screaming his guts out at me. Can I please tell my side of the story? So we
* * *COUNTDOWN: 17 DAYS TO LA/XC-5 * * * What? We’re picking up and driving from here to Los Angeles — again? I thought that trip back in April of 2015 was a one-off! What a nightmare! Does Beagle Man even remember? How I was so nuts over being stuck in the car all
