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Beagle Tales

2/26/2016

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 I could probably blog about Beagle every day. She always finds a way to torture the other three dogs. Each outweighs her by at least 40 pounds. Tommy is more like 60 pounds, yet she rides roughshod over all of them. I believe she dreams of new ways to drive them crazy.

There are three red rubber Kong balls for the Jack and Deuce, the labs. Some days all three are missing. Not under any stick of furniture, stuck in a corner or anywhere in the yard. I check possible hiding spots. I found one once in a rotted hole in a tree stump. She's also put one in the vent thingys that come from underneath the crawlspace of our house.

Other than that, she's better than a packrat. After a few days, a ball will magically appear in the middle of the yard. No indication of where it had been. Now and then, all three emerge. Those days are the best because I have a fair chance of playing one ball/one dog. 

It usually doesn't work out because Deuce, the youngest of the pack can run to the back of the yard to catch her pop fly then race back in time to catch the second ball headed for the home plate.
Jack the sweetest dog who ever lived as learned that even if the ball is within inches of his mouth, he'd do better to step to the side before the furry cannonball crashes into him. It happened once, Jack's mouth was open his paw/eye coordination was deadly accurate. Out of nowhere this black blur flies through the air with a body slam that sent poor Jack flipping twice.

I rushed to Jack while I screamed and scolded Deuce  My words didn't faze Deuce, who strutted around like she caught the last ball to win the World Series. 

So what kind of mischief can the Beagle bring to the party? First, she's low to the ground. I would have thought she'd be slower given the larger strides of the big dogs. For her, it's an advantage. Her belly skims across the Earth as those pencil-length legs kick up dust underneath her.
She can catch a bird in mid-air. Let's not talk about the squirrels. 

It doesn't matter if Deuce or Jack catch the ball. She immediately launches into attack mode. Poor Deuce will stand in the back yard with the ball in her mouth while the beagle stands back a few feet. Every time Deuce tries to move one way, so does the Beagle. It's a canine game of tag with a snarling 40-pound chunk of willpower. If Deuce makes a run for it, Beagle gets up under her neck with a growling/biting action not meant to hurt, per se, but definitely to winkle that ball out of Deuce's mouth Sometimes Deuce gets around her, but then the Beagle follows him like a pilot fish under a shark.

If Deuce tries to drop the ball, the beagle will pounce on it, so Deuce wanders the yard looking for a safe place. I trail behind trying to coax Deuce into bringing it to me, which she will never do. But, she will drop it in front of her while she pretends to be interested in a pecan or stick.

She does that so Jack can pick it up and bring it to me. It's as if Deuce doesn't want to appear like she's surrendering by giving the ball to me. If Jack isn't quick enough, the Beagle pounces and trots away with the ball, her tail twirling like a helicopter propeller. The labs trot along behind her while I do my obligatory walk behind them and say, "bad beagle." She loves that name. She walks just fast enough to be out of reach. When she finally stops, she rolls over on her belly so I can pay the toll of rubbing the belly to collect the ball. 

I make a short toss to Jack. His mouth is open; the ball's in the proper trajectory to hit the spot when a furry secret service agent flies in front of Jack to grab the ball and take whatever assassin's bullet might be headed that way.

Later on, the balls will disappear into a Beagle stash. One day, I hope to find this cute hair barrette, my blush brush, a skein of yarn and a toothbrush I liked. Until then, we must endure her arrogant prance around the yard while we look like chumps.

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Dead Squirrels Tell no Tales

2/17/2016

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I'm working on a magazine piece, so I haven't blogged much. I have so many things to talk about: acupuncture for pets, hydrotherapy for my dog Tommy. I have a Pet Pro question and answer. Also, I have a nifty product to show you that helps your aging pets stand up easier on your hardwood floors. 

For now, I'll keep you entertained with a couple of your favorite pet columns from my years at  "The Commercial Appeal." They usually involve my beagle, the smallest creature in my house and the one that causes the most trouble. Here you go. 

The Beagle and the Dead Squirrel

I was about to head to work. Makeup done, hair looking cute with just the right amount of product to make the ends look all razor-like. Clothed. Shod. Ready to roll. 

I made a final walk through my back yard as I always do before I left. The beagle was trotting toward the back carrying something. That's never good. She's not the kind of girl to grab a stick or something appropriate, like, say, one of her toys. I followed her. 

She was holding a dead squirrel the size of one of those trendy purse dogs in her mouth. I called gently, but she did as she always does when I issue a "come" command; she took off in the opposite direction. She headed for no man's land, something I call the thicket. 
Actually, it's an overgrown area of my yard where a tree fell, and little tree sprouts and vines grew to a tangled mass that's shady and just right for snakes! 

It's dense, twisty, full of spider webs and sticker bushes and she was going in. 

And I was going in after her. 

Her wagging tail disappeared into the brush. I pulled apart sapling limbs and wound my way through. I walked directly into a web spun about 5 feet 2 inches high. Since I'm 5 feet 4 inches, it draped perfectly across my face. 

I squealed and pawed at my face. I decided to walk backwards into the thicket. Look. Step. Look. I tripped on a root and tumbled sideways. I  held on to a vine to keep from falling. 

Throughout this ordeal, my yellow lab Jack was running in front of me, dropping a rubber ball at my feet. I begged him to give it up. Sometimes he was clever enough to drop it right where my next step was coming down. It was a fun game of "don't twist the ankle." 

I couldn't find the beagle anywhere. No sign of her red fur. No jingling of her tags. I began to panic. What if she took her snack through the dog door and she was on my living room sofa right this minute gnawing on a leg? I flung myself out of the mess and ran into the house. I looked in all her hiding places - under the pillows on my bed, behind sofa cushions - and didn't find her or the squirrel. 

I put on my glasses (needed to see far away) and headed back outside. I worked like a crime-scene investigator, canvassing my yard using a grid system. I called her name, which was pointless. You never met willful until you met this beagle. 

I headed back to the thicket and, this time, I spotted her in a dense area, the squirrel between her paws. She had her mouth on a thigh. 

I got close enough to yell at her and shoo her away with a stick. Next came the fun part: trying to carry a dead squirrel out of a thicket full of poison ivy, vines, stumps and spider webs without touching the carcass. 

I picked up two sticks and tried to squeeze it between the two - my chopsticks method. It tumbled off. Meanwhile, the beagle made a lunge for the tail so she could take off with it again. I shooed her. I bent over, and my press badge (yes, I am a professional, don't try this at home) was dangling close to the carcass. I tucked it into my shirt. 

I got a different stick that broke under the weight of the 2-pound squirrel. I found another stick and managed to dangle the recently departed squirrel like a wet towel across a single stick. By this time, I was soaked in sweat. My clothes were sticking to me. My makeup was running into my eyes. I was dripping everywhere. 

I climbed out of the brush and kept the carcass balanced on the stick, holding it high like a wand. 

I put it in a plastic sack and headed to the trash can, which had been emptied that morning by the garbage men. That meant seven days of dead squirrel - in the summer - in my can! 

There was only one choice, well, three: I could have buried it, maybe called the city's dead animal pickup service or wait two days and sneak across the street with my sack and put it in in one of the neighbor's trash cans. 

I opted for the latter. Two days later I was up before sunrise, fishing the vile-smelling sack from my trash can. I didn't want to spend my years dodging him every time I went into the front yard. I walked down the street carrying my sack. I just went to the grocery store; I thought people might deduce. I lucked out when I found a pile of debris on the curb down the street. I tucked my sack under some of the junk. I watched later as the truck with the big claw cleaned the curb of everything, including my stinking, dead squirrel. 

With all the new inventions, I'm hoping someone will come up with a carcass removal system. Maybe some giant tongs and a plastic bag full of lime. Until then, I'm open to suggestions.

​ Tell me about your experiences. You can leave your messages in the comment section.
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My Best in Show Beagle

2/15/2016

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The judges at the Westminster Dog Show never seemed to like my favorite. I'm watched my Rottweiler, my American Staffordshire Terrier (Don't call it a pit bull or you will get eaten by the owner. ) and other ones get sent packing.

​It seemed like they favored the poodle. How does a dog whose natural coat is shaved to poof balls win? 

That changed in 2008 when the winner was Beagle! Beagle! Beagle! It's a great word to yell in a loud pitch. ​




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​My beagle sure isn't as pretty and perfect as Uno, the 2008 winner, but I guarantee you she can match him in mischievousness. 

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Please Help Find a Foster or Permanent Home for This Boy

2/13/2016

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People moved out of their house and abandoned this boy. He was tied up in a shed, no food or water. My friend's daughter found him and brought him home.

She's had him for a couple of weeks. Apartment management served her papers that said she was violating the 35 pounds or less dog rule. What idiot decided 34-pound dogs are allowed.

 She is a single mom who could never afford to rent a house. Her mom took him to vet today. He is heart worm positive.

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What Are the Names of Your Dogs?

2/11/2016

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Top Dog Names for 2015

2/11/2016

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Brad Pitt. That's the name of a stray pit bull puppy that a sweet young couple adopted. They call him Bradley. Brad was a little stuffy for a dog.

Some of my dogs were named when I adopted them: Tommy Jack and Deuce. The rest are from Me: Meg Ryan (call her Beagle), Tipper Gore, Molly. Others in my family: Buddy, Peppy, Bimbo, Marmaduke, Sissy, Prissy, Snickers, Tiny, Spike and Lucky,
Some of the rescue dog names I came up with:  Daisy, Rosa, Buddy, Lorelei (no one liked that except me), Rufus, Jack, Angus, Munchkin, Buddy, and others I can't remember.

​Never understood why people completely change a dog's name unless the rescue group's name is bizarre. Consider that they have to give names to all the rescue dogs, cats puppy and kittens. You can only have so many dogs named Buddy, Blackie or Bear. 
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Appleheads and Angles

2/9/2016

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Disney Video
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​Many people believe Siamese cats always looked like the conniving Si and Am from the movie "Lady and the Tra 
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Those cats, favorites to the royal family of Siam (Thailand), had round heads and stockier bodies. The original look of the breed is now known as an Applehead Siamese cat. Though it's a purebred Siamese, that appearance is no longer considered the breed standard. 

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Pet Pics of the Day: Leo and Theo Hays

2/9/2016

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​Leo and Theo are appleshead Siamese littermate who live in Little Rock, Ark. with Cindy Hays. Applehead siamese cats have round heads instead of an angular shape. ​

Nearly three years ago, her beloved cats Josh and Alvin died three weeks apart. While cats don’t make a lot of noise or ruckus like dogs do, the silence when she came home at night was acute.

She saw an ad in the newspaper for applehead Siamese kittens. Her plan was to buy one kitten, but took enough money for two. Cat lovers know two kittens are better than one because they will keep each other company. 


The 2-year-olds enjoy a game of fetch and sleeping. Cindy says. Leo climbs in her lap and demands attention, while Theo is content just to snuggle against Cindy. The boys love to nestle together. 

Send me your pet pics or videos.

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Pet Pics of the Day: Peppermint and Bella Focht

2/8/2016

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The artful and funny collection of photos by local professional photographer Karen Pulfer Focht of her family's dogs: Peppermint the Pug and Bella the Black Labrador Retriever.

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The Truth About Bowls

2/7/2016

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The truth is that I love to hold puppies, kiss them, smell their breath and watch them play. Since I can never find an unsedated kitten that won't scratch my cornea if I try to hold it close to my face, I prefer to watch them play. 

While we've enjoyed the puppy frolic for a dozen years, it seems a marketing genius finally did the math on the popularity of cats. Latest statistics show there are 77.8 million pet dogs in America (American Pet Products Association, 2015-2016), there are 85.8 million pet cats. That's nearly 10 percent more cats than dogs! Hence, Kitten Bowl.I'm not a fan of bowls. I say that because there are three going on today, two of which I'll watch, the other, I used to watch to see the commercials. Now, I watch those on Monday. 

Fortunately, there's nothing but happiness with puppies and kittens. Puppy Bowl XII, where 49 adorable puppies goof around doing all the cute things puppies do, is magical in that, there's no Cruella Deville threatening to skin puppies, no Marley who dies, no Old Yeller to shoot.

Disclaimer: I typically say, "I hate puppies." What I mean is that I never want to rear a puppy (again!). I have a speech all ready for you if you are considering adopting a dog. I have a cautionary message for you if you are planning to purchase puppy. I'll save both those topics for another blog entry along with the joys of an adult cat or dog. 


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    Cindy Wolff, Author

    I've never trusted people who don't have a little dog hair on them. >>>

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