At least once a week at our local gym a stressed voice interrupts the piped music to announce “Code red at the pool!”. This phrase indicates a life-threatening emergency, and given the number of such announcements you’d be tempted to conclude that the swimming pool is a very dangerous place indeed and best avoided; a bit like London, or Paisley on a Saturday night, but more consistently wet. Fortunately most of these “emergencies” turn out to be false alarms, but earlier this week we had a Code Red of our own, and I can tell there was nothing false about it.
Like most Beagle boys, Biggles has only a limited vocabulary, but subtle variations in delivery allow him to impart many different meanings to a even single”Woof!”. The volume, intonation and duration of the woof that woke Susan and myself early one morning conveyed a sense of urgency that needed no translation. It was a Code Red woof for sure. If we’d been in an episode of Star Trek Next Generation instead of in our bedroom, then Biggles would have been playing the role of Geordi La Forge, warning Captain Picard that a warp core breach was imminent.
Just like the staff at the gym we sprang into action; while Susan went to free Biggles from his crate, I stumbled over a minefield of randomly discarded socks, squeaky stuffing-free foxes and other toys to deactivate the alarm and open all the barriers that stood between Biggles and the outside loo. As my boy followed me into the kitchen he still managed a brief sniff at the foil container from the previous night’s lasagne ( a true Beagle!), then ran straight out into the garden to deal with his urgent business. When he returned a few minutes later he was visibly relieved, and thanks to the urgency in that code red announcement the bed in his crate was still dry and free of any unwanted bottom sausages. Now that he’d been let out of his crate he didn’t want to get back in and made his case for bringing forward the daily Big Bed snuggle time with us humies. It’s always dangerous to give into such requests because it sets a precedent, but of course we did, and when you let one Beagle do it, you kind of have to let the other one do it too. Our sleep was further disrupted that morning by loud snoring from under the covers and spiky paws trying to claim more space than should be required by a little furry person.
Speaking of snuggle time and little furry people, we’ve now moved our cheap eBay Reebok Step knock-off to the side of the bed typically used by The Beanster. Since we put a thick memory foam topper on our mattress our little girl has occasionally been having difficulty jumping onto the bed when she’s just got out of her crate. If we leave the bedroom door open at any point later in the day, Beanie can and will jump into the bed effortlessly, but some mornings now she can be a bit hesitant, and the Step should help. It’s the first concrete sign that at 12 Beanie is not quite the spring chicken she once was, but I’m continuing with all the exercises recommended by the doggie physio to keep her and Biggles in the best possible shape for as long as possible – including wading sessions in the sea (even though they’re not necessarily everyone’s idea of fun at this time of year!)
