As the UK seems to be basking in an autumnal heatwave (the thermometer on the shed is currently reading 39C!) I thought I would take you back to the field behind my previous house.
February 2019, Chesham, Buckinghamshire.
Only another few months and it will be Christmas! I know, I will sshh now.
I thought I would let Lenny have some happiness on his birthday. We think it was his birthday yesterday but as a rescue we aren’t wholly certain. Anyway he seemed to enjoy the extra treats, venison chews and excessive belly rubs administered by our parents.
So. I have been quiet on here recently as we have had many things going on and we’ve not been around too much. Weekends appear to have morphed into busy, almost working, days so Lenny and I are feeling a bit sidelined.
On one of our rare moments of relaxation last Saturday I spied the sofa in the distance. It was adorned with my cushions, arranged pretty much how I like them and my little vampiric brother hadn’t yet decided to infest my snoozing place. As I made my way to the edge of the sofa I readied myself for the leap and subsequent flop down into lazing position. I took off, bellied the front of the sofa, bounced backwards and landed in a big heap. All this was much to the horror of my mum who quickly came to my assistance. I was alright but I did notice there weren’t any treats proferred to assuage the anguish I had suffered. I looked at the sofa, looked at Lenny’s cave bed, lost heart a bit at my inability to launch onto the sofa and decided to go and curl up onto of the cave bed. I got up after a while to stroll about and it was noticed that I was walking a little stiffly. I had maybe had bashed myself about somewhat. That evening I stood at the foot of the stairs and looked longingly up. I had lost all my confidence in climbing stairs, I was limping and feeling sorry for myself. Until dad scooped me up and deposited me on the landing so I could have a flat walk to my bed.
I awoke the following day and plodded very slowly downstairs. As I was placed in my harness I heard it muttered that I was going for a walk separately to Lenny so mum and I set off along the lane past the stables whilst Lenny and dad went down the lane and past the church. Anyway long story short I was still stiff and a bit limpy when I returned so it was decided for me that I was going off to the vet on Monday. When the fateful hour arrived I bravely made my way there, dragging mum along for company. She told the vet all of my innermost secrets of which I hadn’t authorised disclosure and then I was examined from top to tail. The diagnosis is that I am a fit and healthy beagle harrier apart from having what looks to be spinal degeneration and possibly some disc misalignment in my spine close to my back legs. Apparently this is quite normal in older dogs (I think they were talking about me?) and the situation needs to be “managed”. So I am being told to calm down more often, I’m not allowed so much bitey face with Lenny and my parents are administering some pills and potions in my dinner that seem to be making me sleepy and very relaxed in the evening. I conjured up the courage to leap upon my side of the sofa and I can plod upstairs slowly now. I have an attendant parent to make sure I am ok when I try to do something strenuous which is of course extremely embarrassing and not doing my rufty tufty image any good whatsoever.
I have to realise that I am an older dog now, I can do most things that younger dogs do, but just a bit slower and more carefully. I’m alright, I just have to slow down and adapt.
Live life like you mean it. Dodge the curve ball when it’s heading for you. And don’t get disheartened as there is usually someone there to pick you up, dust you off and give you a big kiss on the bonce.
And just like that Lenny is five today. He arrived like a well aimed furry missile into my life in 2019, disrupted my routine and ability to cadge treats from pliant parents and made himself firmly at home.
We squabbled and bickered for a week or so and then decided it was more fun to run around the garden like a couple of fools. We’ve been places, done stuff and eaten bad things, all the while getting told off and not listening. But there is only one thing that I can say for certain.
I wouldn’t change it for anything. Happy birthday Lendog.
A blog I read recently resonated with me. A lady called Ruth Soaper has a dog called Ruby who is/was a shelter dog. Ruby has seriously come out of her shell over the year she has been living a happy life and she loves life itself. However it appears that Ruby loves tennis balls in particular.
It struck me that it is the same here with my brother (from another mother), young Lendog. He likes little better than having a ball to guard. As long as I don’t try to steal it from him or try to play, he seems content to have his ball, lay on the grass and watch the world go by. All the while he waits for another ball to fly over the fence from the neighbours garden so he can have another one to look after.
It really is as simple as that. Sometimes we don’t need mind bending, sorry training toys, to feel content.
If you want to read about Ruby on the 21 June 2023 blog, the link to the website is hopefully here.
Firstly I need to apologise if anyone has missed me during my absence. There is no single reason for me not being here so won’t try to excuse myself. I will bring you all up to date on things that have happened recently.
It started the same as any other Saturday morning on 10th June. One of the parents went off shopping and we went out for a quick bimble around the local lanes. It was warm, mighty warm and humid. So it was that we lazed around feeling listless whilst trying not to overdo anything.
Knock knock, aroo aroo. There was a commotion in the hallway and I found myself being attached to my harness and lead. Lenny and I were confined to a room whilst the visitors were allowed into my house. This wasn’t in the script for a Saturday. As we were released from our enforced captivity we found ourselves assailed by two fellow beagles who were accompanied by their parents. Smudgey and Ted beagles had arranged to come and visit us. It appears that we weren’t told about the impending visit.
Smudgey and Ted began immediately to investigate my house but I was kept on a lead as I couldn’t be trusted to behave myself correctly. Also I had a major operation earlier in the year and we didn’t want any relapses or injuries. We were allowed out in the garden to sniff and explore but it was so warm that none of us stayed out for too long. Then the parents started talking so we all decided to have a sleep. Suddenly we found ourselves rudely awakened as it was realised that the local paw paddock had been booked and they didn’t want to waste the chance to let us off for a run around. Off we went, under the road bridge, turn right, through the woods and then down the lane. Into view comes the paw paddock and we all anticipated a good run around with various shenanigans thrown into the mixture. The gates were closed behind us, we drank some water near the first gate and then entered the arena to await release.
Off the lead went Smudgey, Ted and Lenny but when I looked up at mum she told me, with her eyes, that I was too precious to be allowed off to be silly. We started to walk around the perimeter and I got to watch my furry brethren stroll about sniffing and exploring. It was mighty warm, and the shelter looked welcoming, as well as the bench in the middle of the paddock to give us all some welcome shade.
After forty minutes or so we strolled back to the pub and managed to snag a table outside so we could relax and listen to the parents chatter.
Back along the high street and we found ourselves at home where I was, finally, allowed off lead to have a good scent in my garden. I managed to stroll about for a while but then started to get too excited and was swiftly re-harnessed.
Smudgey and Ted told us they had to go somewhere else and we said our sad goodbyes. It was great to meet some new friends and have a lovely time showing them around our manor.
I know I have to be careful so I won’t be let off lead too often if we get visitors. All part of growing older I suppose.
According to the people I live with, today is my birthday. This day was chosen as no one really knows for sure when my actual birthday is.
I am something called a teenager as I have hit the ripe age (for a dog) of thirteen. I don’t know what being a teenager entails but if it means that I get loads more tickles and treats, I am hoping I get to be a teenager for ever now. Even Lenny is being nice to me.
To be sensible for a moment I must admit that I am lucky as I am safe, loved and live a good life. I am grateful for these things as there are many other dogs that don’t enjoy the privileges.
Today marks four years since Lenny came to live with me.
I was surprised to see people at the door to my house. I was assailed by a pup of about eight months of age and we proceeded to run around like idiots having fun. When the ladies who delivered Lenny left we kind of looked at each other with some trepidation and then proceeded to run our parents ragged for about two weeks whilst we got used to living together. It was like dropping a furry hand grenade into my life.
He’s been here four years. We have been to all sorts of places, seen many things and met many people. Lenny has settled into his life of safety. He has learned some commands and knows he will get ear tickles and head scratches if he’s a good lad.
Whisper this but I am so pleased he’s here. We may annoy each other and do silly things but I know he’s safe and loved which is the best thing ever. Happy fourth Gotcha Day Lenny Lendog.
I haven’t been on here much recently as I have been busy recuperating from the operation on my cruciate ligament back on 6th January. I know I reported progress around three weeks after the operation but thought I would let you know how I am getting on. That is of course if you are interested.
I was at the vets each Monday for about 6 weeks after the operation. I had laser treatment but I avoided wearing the trendy goggles that are normally used. I had one parent alternating each night staying downstairs with me as I was banned from stairs for over a month. It was extremely boring staying on the ground floor as I was being regaled with stories from Lenny about sleeping in his bed and being able to stretch out, not being hassled by me during the night and getting midnight snacks whilst I wasn’t there. For the first few weeks the only outside time I got was in the garden which only added to me feeling stir crazy. Then during the day my walks started although they were short and slow which was due to me healing. Also my parents said that I was normally an idiot on a walk because I can smell a squirrel/rabbit/fox/deer (delete as applicable) from around a mile away. I went along a quiet road at a slow pace to help build up the muscle wastage that I had suffered over the preceding months. My mum was doing physio sessions with me three or four times a day. My leg was being worked hard but carefully to ensure that there were no relapses. Come rain and shine I was out on a short walk and then back to the house where I shown how to exercise my leg and get stronger. Treats and a peanut butter lick mat may have helped here, so I am not putting it all down to my own will power. Suddenly I was allowed upstairs although at first I was lead walked up to my bed at night. During the day I was still restricted to downstairs but I didn’t mind too much. After a couple of weeks of being accompanied I was found upstairs as I had secretly engaged in a bout of snout jousting with Lenny which had finished with us finding the best spot to look out of the window and check squirrels in the garden. We weren’t in the proverbial good books for a while, especially until they could ensure that I hadn’t done damage to myself.
When I went back to the vets for the last time, around three weeks ago they said I was doing really well, mum was doing a great job on my rehab and physio and I could start to go on longer walks. We had to increase the mileage slowly each week from less than a mile to a mile, a mile and a quarter all the way through to a mile and a half currently. I have been going to different places and its got a bit more interesting. I sill don’t walk with Lenny as he goes for longer walks than me and we tend to compete for scents when we are together. I’ve had a couple of setbacks where I started limping a little and then my front left leg was playing up. With the aid of some medicine and anti inflammatories I seem to be on the right path now though.
I couldn’t have done it without my parents. And even Lenny helped by giving me time and space to heal. He knew I was in some discomfort as soon as I arrived home after the operation although I think that the onesie, Fentanyl patch and me looking spaced out might have given the game away.
Anyway yesterday it was 12 weeks since the operation and we went to the beach in the wind and rain. We met up with our good friend Griff who brought his parents along. We walked and there was chatter with some cake and coffee mixed in. I’d had three walks all over a mile and a half. I didn’t even realise I had gone that far and there are no ill effects today.
We actually found the Bluebird Cafe in Ferring which was an excellent place to go and very, very dog friendly. Today we have mainly been sleeping and dreaming.
I’m on the road to recovery. For a “nearly” thirteen year old beagle I feel bionic but I am being reined in by my concerned parents. There’s life in the old fella yet.
Before Christmas I read about one of my longest known friends who had been diagnosed with a tumour in his leg which was inoperable. His parents surrounded him with love and showered him with attention as they knew that he would be making his longest journey in the near future. When I saw the news my heart filled with so much sadness. It was sadness that this would be his last days, weeks or months and that I knew another of my oldest friends would be leaving us.
Bugsy beagle was born on 7 December 2011 and arrived at his forever home on 9 February 2012. He immediately ingratiated himself on everyone and made an instant impression on his mums heart. He quickly became the chief meeter and greeter at his mums spa in the Midlands. Everyone who worked there, or visited, knew Bugsy was around either through seeing him in the office or hearing him in the office. He made the place his own as you would expect of a cheeky, happy and very much loved beagle.
When I joined social media in December 2013 Bugsy was one of the first dogs that I communicated with. Always happy to lend me an ear, tell me where I was going wrong with training parents or explaining how to use the “eyes” to score extra treats, I knew I could rely on Bugsy to come up with the goods.
He was “best dog” at his parents wedding and then welcomed a human brother in February 2019. He said he was a little confused that there was a new pup who was getting showered with attention although Bugsy did admit that he grew to like his new brother particularly at meal times when the number of snacks strangely increased. Bugsy was at the centre of a loving home and knew his cheekiness and fun would always ensure he remained endeared to all who met him, but specially his parents.
And so it was that I heard the news before Christmas that he was unfortunately quite poorly. The initial few weeks turned into a month and then to six weeks. All the time he was stoic in his attitude ensuring that he upheld the tradition of the beagle by baying loudly, never missing a treat and making sure his family knew where he was. After a course of medicine the final X-Ray showed what had been feared, had actually happened. It was to be his time. Time for the worst decision but the most loving decision. Time for the sadness and reflection to flow and envelope him in the love that had cradled him throughout his life. He made his final and longest journey being cuddled by his mum and he was allowed to sleep his longest sleep.
Bugsy, my friend, travel well and sleep easy. Those who have gone before will guide you to the everlasting meadow where the sun shines warmly upon your fur. There is no more pain, no more suffering for your time here has concluded. You have left the most giant of paw prints on the hearts of your parents who will never let you leave their minds. You will continue to make them smile, to laugh at your naughtiness and to remember your life and all its adventures.
Run free Bugsy. I am honoured to be called your friend. May your path be lit for you to find those who have gone before. Rest easy.
Three weeks ago today I was delivered to my local vets so that my bad leg could be fixed. I was put under anaesthetic and the vet surgeon opened up my rear right knee. He later told us that my “cruciate had completely broken” complementing that with “he’s in a lot of pain” and they couldn’t tell how long I had been in discomfort. I had something called a TPLO (Tibial Plateau Levelling Osteotomy) which I wont describe in case you are squeamish or have eaten your dinner recently. I was placed under house arrest in the vets overnight so they could observe me.
I arrived home the following day to see that I was still under some form of house arrest which was being dressed up as something for my benefit and to avoid any incidents or damages occurring whilst I healed. Lenny saw me wobble into the house and duly retired to his (one of my) bed to observe me from a safe distance.
To be honest I don’t remember much about the first couple of days due to being subdued by various pills, potions and drug patches to help the pain. I didn’t even realise that I was wearing what is colloquially known in the canine fraternity as the Cone of Shame. Imagine wearing a lampshade upside down on your neck and looking like a Frilled Lizard. Indeed, not a good look for a rufty tufty beagle. I did have the use of a surgical onesie, as well as a long sock type object called a Licksleeve. This covered my leg and meant that I couldn’t lick the leg or knee. What with the Cone of Shame, the Licksleeve and my onesie I was trussed up more fully than Hannibal Lecter.
It had even escaped my notice for the first few days that I was not allowed to go upstairs to my normal bed and that I had a parent sleeping downstairs with me. Again to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid, as if it would cross my mind to lick or chew the operation site. Lead walks in the garden, pills at regular intervals, rest, sleep and then more sleep were interspersed with food. Back to the vet on Monday and my pain killer patch was taken off which was a relief as it meant I could dispense with the onesie at least. I was given my first session of gentle physio and was checked over by the vet who performed my operation. All appeared well and I was allowed home, but I was still under house arrest.
Two more vet visits and I am feeling much better. I get physio three or four times a day whilst Lenny gets training elsewhere in the house. The parents are still swapping over each night to sleep downstairs with me until I am given the all clear to resume the normality of being a beagle. I have another week at least of downstairs rest after which I will be assessed further. I seem to be making quick progress with standing on all legs, building up my leg muscles and being more mobile and comfortable walking about. The infernal Cone of Shame is still there, although I noticed over the last couple of days that it is being removed more frequently. I am not chewing or licking my leg as much as was feared so it is hoped that with the wound healing, the fur growing back and my general mobility getting better, I can be without the Cone for ever soon. I even managed some “helicopter tail” for one of my parents when he returned home a few days ago from running chores.
So, why do they love us so much? When I was away in the vet hospital I understand that the house was quieter, there were fewer shenanigans and even Lenny missed me. Both parents were thinking about me and hoping that the operation would be successful of course. But in the first instance they wanted me back home in one piece. Now I am back there is still a great deal of upheaval in the house and I am still not allowed upstairs. I’m not resting as much as they would like and I am being kept from doing too much too early so I can repair my leg properly. They are very happy that I seem to be walking well now. It’s only been three weeks and I am feeling better every day.
One of my good friends, Zack, had the same operation on the same day. He too seems to be recovering well and we have promised each other that we would heal together, repair properly but not make it a race. I suspect his house was pretty quiet whilst he was away having his operation too. Even his brother would have missed not having him around for a day or so.
Maybe its the instinct to nurture that makes our parents feel sad and anxious when we aren’t around. We are very lucky that we are loved and pampered. Is it our cheekiness, our sense of fun as well as our ability to weedle our way into hearts to pull those proverbial strings? Maybe that’s why they love us so much.
Dexter 