A few years ago, I wrote about a fight between my husband and me about who was going to wrest part of a squirrel from our Beagle. For a couple who argues over lame stuff like the proper order to put on shoes and socks, this one was important.
By the way, I argue for sock-shoe, sock-shoe since you already have the foot on your knee. He argues for sock-sock, shoe-shoe. I don't no why. My way saves you a second or two while you switch your legs back and forth.
Pet Scoop
By Cindy Wolff
Words I never thought I'd utter: "If there's a piece of squirrel under this sofa cushion, I'm gonna beat the tar out of you!"
Squirrels, meet beagle.
She's squatty, silky red with kohl-rimmed brown eyes and a wiggling backside that redefines cute. Her real name is Meg Ryan (Meggie for short), but we never call her that. Just Beagle.
By the way, I argue for sock-shoe, sock-shoe since you already have the foot on your knee. He argues for sock-sock, shoe-shoe. I don't no why. My way saves you a second or two while you switch your legs back and forth.
Pet Scoop
By Cindy Wolff
Words I never thought I'd utter: "If there's a piece of squirrel under this sofa cushion, I'm gonna beat the tar out of you!"
Squirrels, meet beagle.
She's squatty, silky red with kohl-rimmed brown eyes and a wiggling backside that redefines cute. Her real name is Meg Ryan (Meggie for short), but we never call her that. Just Beagle.
I've noticed recently that the little butterball is getting plumper. I figured she wasn't burning calories because of high temperatures.
I was wrong.
I arrived home Monday evening after a long day at work. The big dogs greeted me at the door. I rounded the corner looking for the beagle. I found her curled on her little pet bed in my bedroom. Beside her laid out like a quill pen, was a squirrel tail. In her mouth, she held a head attached to a shoulder connected to a wee paw.
I screamed my husband's name. The man, who has the observational skills of a doorknob, hadn't noticed the macabre scene while doing laundry or watching old golf highlights.
He finally came and did what I should have expected: Screamed like a girl and ran away. The beagle began walking toward me with her snack. I joined screams with Dave as we flew into the living room. Beagles toenails click-clacked ]as she rounded the corner and headed toward us again. We picked up our screams and fled to the kitchen.
I peeked around the corner and saw that Beagle was on our sofa still holding her squirrel part. The situation was urgent. We could not have a dog with a dead animal on our sofa. If sh
Then came the bickering.
"You get it."
"No, you get it."
"I can't."
"I can't either."
"We can't leave it in the house."
"Someone HAS to do something."
My husband put his foot down like he does when he's completely sure of something.
"I am incapable of going in there and getting it."
That left me to man up and take charge. I grabbed one of those always-handy plastic grocery sacks, marched into the living room and yelled at the beagle.
Her ears drooped as she spat the remains onto my sofa. I put the bag over my hand, then scooped up the remains.
The beagle and I made a beeline for the bedroom where I successfully collected the tail.
I scouted around the house for other body parts mentally noted everything that would be washed, in scalding water.
I love the dog door because I don't have to worry about getting home fast to let them outside. I'm just not sure how to teach the beagle to leave her trophies outside. I'm open to suggestions. Tell me your stories.
I was wrong.
I arrived home Monday evening after a long day at work. The big dogs greeted me at the door. I rounded the corner looking for the beagle. I found her curled on her little pet bed in my bedroom. Beside her laid out like a quill pen, was a squirrel tail. In her mouth, she held a head attached to a shoulder connected to a wee paw.
I screamed my husband's name. The man, who has the observational skills of a doorknob, hadn't noticed the macabre scene while doing laundry or watching old golf highlights.
He finally came and did what I should have expected: Screamed like a girl and ran away. The beagle began walking toward me with her snack. I joined screams with Dave as we flew into the living room. Beagles toenails click-clacked ]as she rounded the corner and headed toward us again. We picked up our screams and fled to the kitchen.
I peeked around the corner and saw that Beagle was on our sofa still holding her squirrel part. The situation was urgent. We could not have a dog with a dead animal on our sofa. If sh
Then came the bickering.
"You get it."
"No, you get it."
"I can't."
"I can't either."
"We can't leave it in the house."
"Someone HAS to do something."
My husband put his foot down like he does when he's completely sure of something.
"I am incapable of going in there and getting it."
That left me to man up and take charge. I grabbed one of those always-handy plastic grocery sacks, marched into the living room and yelled at the beagle.
Her ears drooped as she spat the remains onto my sofa. I put the bag over my hand, then scooped up the remains.
The beagle and I made a beeline for the bedroom where I successfully collected the tail.
I scouted around the house for other body parts mentally noted everything that would be washed, in scalding water.
I love the dog door because I don't have to worry about getting home fast to let them outside. I'm just not sure how to teach the beagle to leave her trophies outside. I'm open to suggestions. Tell me your stories.
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