Obsession

No, not some perfume which has probably been tested on beagles and then sold to unsuspecting people, but apparently something that applies to me.

I am a beagle, you may have noticed. Lenny is also a beagle and, again, this may have come to your attention. In that case, my parents want to know, how are we so different when it comes to certain small furry creatures which run along the fence at the back of my garden sending me into some delirium in the process. Of course I refer to squirrels. The grey variety that hitched a ride over from the North American continent and which now plague woods, forests and my garden so successfully. I would like to thank whoever it was that thought they would be a good idea, but I cannot do so.

They have been cavorting all day and I have been unable to control my whining and pacing in and out of different rooms to get a better view of them. As my view improves the whine goes up a decibel or ten, with associated baying when I cannot get to them. I move from a chair in the living room to the kitchen, back to the living room, off to a bedroom overlooking the garden, return to the kitchen, push the closed and locked door in the (vain) hope it will open and then stand in the living room once more noisily whining at whichever parent is closest. It would appear I am tormented by them (squirrels not parents). According to said parents we are not going to live in a cave whereby any and all views into the garden are shut out with curtains, so my view is panoramic around the garden. As soon as I am released into the garden to chase off the pesky critter it merely leaps into a nearby tree and pulls faces at me. I return to the warmth of the living room and watch as the squirrel descends from its lofty perch and continues its efforts are sending me doolally.

Then Lenny decides to wake up and see what’s going on. I cannot believe that he has missed the entire squirrel bothering episode because he’s been sleeping soundly. Does he not understand that these creatures are our mortal foe, they represent everything that makes a beagle obsessed with shaking it warmly by the neck.

These pictures were taken about four seconds apart. He’s just awoken from his nefarious slumber. I had been like this for the previous ten minutes, gently whimpering at the scoundrel running amok in my garden. I really don’t understand how he can be so relaxed about having squirrels in the garden. Is he truly a beagle? Maybe it’s me? I think I need to have a bit of a lie down in a darkened room.

Published by

rescuedogdexter

Enjoying life in my forever home. Sharing my contentment with whoever will read my tales. I live in West Sussex, UK.

4 thoughts on “Obsession”

  1. Ha, I would be just the same, only I don’t have a window with a view over the back garden, just the front.

    However, we do now have a visiting grey squirrel which has even been digging holes in MY lawn. If I catch sight of it from the back door step, I give chase but the pesky crittur just sits on the back wall, grinning at me until I am called back inside 😦

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This seems to be a common problem and there are numerous websites with pages proposing ways to deal with it. Perhaps you could nudge your parents towards the Web to pick up some tips. Some of your friends may have met the same problem and could perhaps offer advice. Hobbies can be fun and llfe-enhancing but if they cross the boundary into obsessive behaviour, the quality of life may suffer.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It is a trait of my breed. I am a beagle crossed with a Harrier. We are designed to hunt and do bad things to small furry animals so I think that my parents will just have to put up with my antics.

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s