Well, that was all a bit unnecessary

Firstly Happy New Year to one and all. I have been fairly quiet over the festive period as there is quite a bit of activity going on in the house and I have needed to be good. As some may know, this can be challenging for a beagle who lives with a vampiric younger sibling. I may have been good at times.

Walks have been taken with sights and smells duly appreciated. It’s been drab and dreary here since New Year arrived. We have mainly walked the lanes as the rain has turned our field walks into a muddy quagmire in places and our assistants complain of slipping and sliding all over the place when trying to control us. They need four paw drive. The number of people out walking, running and walking their dogs has increased significantly so our walks haven’t been as solitary as we would have liked but you can’t have everything, can you?

Isn’t this a little early for a walk?

This morning started like the previous two or three. The parents were lazing about until Lenny planted an excellently placed pounce on dads kidneys. After our first half breakfast we were away through the lanes sniffing rabbits and squirrels in the hedgerows and walking through the filthiest puddles we could find. Having returned home, we had our second half breakfast and then we thought it was time for our usual session of bitey face followed by some snoozing, all interspersed with regular trips to the garden to check on the Sciurus position. As I returned from my fourth foray into the garden I found myself harnessed up again and attached to my dad who told me to be good, whilst putting a bag of gravy bones in his pocket. I had suspicious ears. We marched quickly out of the house and soon found I was in the car park at the vets. This definitely wasn’t in the script for a lazy Sunday. In we go and I am trapped in the consulting room whilst dad then explains to the vet that, on a few occasions, I have been a little less than solid in certain areas over the past six weeks or so and my diet has been changed to make it blander and more accommodating to my bodily functions. I looked at dad to inform him that I had not authorised this conversation to take place, but he just ignored me. Typical. All the embarrassing details are laid bare and I haven’t seen these gravy bones in his pocket yet. The vet thinks I may have some colitis which is normal for a “beagle of my age” and that the bland diet is a good idea so it should be continued for a week or two. Again I didn’t authorise this change to my food.

Then to add insult to injury the vet noticed that my annual boosters were due about this time. Cue the stethoscope and being investigated in my ears, mouth and round the back. I am apparently in good shape for a “beagle of my age” and it was then that the gravy bones miraculously appeared from dads pocket. My suspicions were exceeded by my craving for said gravy flavoured snack and I missed the vet wander around behind me with a needle to ensure I had my boosters for another year. The liberty of it all. The shame wasn’t finished though as I was marched over to the scales and dad told the receptionist that I was fourteen kilos. How could he? In public? In a loud voice? Whilst rolling his eyes? The only redeeming factor was that dad had to pay for my travails so this put a slight spring back into my step for the return home.

Quick session of bitey face with Lenny, followed by my dinner and I now find myself snoozing on the sofa whilst allegedly kicking mum in my sleep. I have no idea what she means.

I wonder if I will get extra sympathy gravy bones?

And apparently Lenny missed me whilst I wasn’t here. Nice to know someone loves me.

Where is Dex?

An important day

Dex has allowed me, Lenny, to take over his blog on this one occasion. I wanted to say that today is an important day in the life of a rescue dog. It is the anniversary of Dexter arriving in his forever home on 19th December 2013. He’s been here seven years, had eight Christmases and all that time he’s been loved and cherished.

When we waifs and strays are sitting in kennels or the shelter we dream of being able to have a bed with toys, food and a warm cuddle to send us to sleep after a long walk through the fields and lanes chasing rabbits and squirrels. He has that in abundance. To have allowed our parents to adopt him and made them into his willing accomplices is a tribute to his guile and craftiness. It’s called a Gotcha Day on the basis that it is the day he got a forever home and he rescued humans in the process.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring?

I am privileged to be allowed to spend my life with him, as I couldn’t want for a better brother to guide me through life and show me the best things to smell and eat. If I don’t listen to him when I am eating revolting things, then it isn’t his fault. Today I will let him win at bitey face games. Tomorrow it will be back to normal service with him panting and puffing whilst trying to catch me.

I hope he’s being nice

Happy Gotcha Day big brother. I am so happy to say that.