For a long time now, I’ve been thinking that a lot of people don’t take Beagles as seriously as they should. Watching Westminster last week only confirmed my opinion. Okay, so maybe a German Shepherd won this year — congrats, Rumor — but nobody can deny my Beagle brethren have dominated recent Westminster history. Miss P
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
I’m often accused, especially by members of my own family, of wasting time pondering things that others find . . . not really important. Like, what makes some towns choose black letters on white background for their street signs, and others go for the white-on-green look? Last week one of my writing students turned in
I’m not a big fan of “authorities” telling me what dogs think. You’ll read in the pages of some book: It’s all the same to your dog if you’ve been gone for 15 minutes or 15 hours. Please. Did a dog once tell the author this? Which is not to say I don’t find myself
Kemba’s almost two-and-a-half now, and I guess it’s about time I own up to something: He is not a trained dog. Oh, sure, he’s house-trained. And he’ll “sit” for you if you care to give him a treat. But by and large, he does whatever he wants. I meant to have a trained dog this time around.
Every breath you take Every move you make Every bond you break Every step you take I’ll be watching you. — The Police I give my rolling swivel chair a sudden shove back from my desk, and Kemba, who’s been napping in his doggy bed of red-and-white ticking on the floor of my study, springs
Come on, all dogs embarrass their owners — at least sometimes. As they say on those Geico commercials, “it’s what they do.” I, for one, used to eat my own poop. Go ahead, judge me . . . though you really shouldn’t knock it till you try it. The fact is, even the little red duck
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
