For a while now I’ve been signed up to what seems to be the last DVD rental service in the UK – CinemaParadiso. Each time a new disc arrives I make popcorn and have a screening in what I refer to as our “posh” lounge, so named because it’s had less exposure to Beagle vomit and bum-wiping than our other rooms. While the popcorn guarantees that I’ll start off with two Beagle watching partners, usually a short way into the movie I’ll be down to just one: if the film is a horror, it’ll typically be Beanie, and for sci-fi it’ll be Biggles.
It makes sense that Beanie wouldn’t be overly fond of sci-fi movies; they’re often filled with beeping noises which can be very scary to little Beagle girls, whereas blood-curdling screams are just fine. As for Biggles, well I didn’t honestly think he had any particular aversion to horrors – until I watched “The possession of Hannah Grace” the other night. I didn’t find it to be a particularly scary movie, but Biggles apparently did; shortly after the start I heard him whimpering softly from the other sofa. When I made room for him next to me (which wasn’t easy because I had to shift Beanie up a bit), he came over like a shot and wouldn’t relax until I’d wrapped my arm right round him to provide both a cuddle and a chin rest. Ironically he’s the one who most often looks possessed – tickle that big white tummy of his just right and his eyes roll back in his head like a scene from The Exorcist.
Speaking of horrors, Beanie has proved once again that she is one, by tearing up a new plant we’d got for the back garden. She’s got form for this kind of thing; as a puppy she was a serial flower-killer, but we were hoping that she’d grown out of it by now.
Directly after planting she was keen to examine our work and did nibble a bit of compost (who wouldn’t?), but a cautionary “Oi! I’m watching you!” put a stop to that. Nearly a whole week passed without any further incidents, but I suspect that – as with TV’s Dexter Morgan – Beanie was trying to resist the urges of her “dark passenger”. Suddenly one evening the dark passenger won, and in the aftermath I found bits of plant and soil strewn all over the patio. No dirty paws or mucky snouts were in evidence, but the frenzied nature of the attack made it clearly a Beanie crime scene. The plant hadn’t been simply dug up – it had been ripped out of the soil and shaken like a Polaroid picture. Once a plant-killer, always a plant-killer!
