Which vacuum attachment is your Beagle?

We spend a small yet significant part of each day herding Beanie & Biggles out of our utility room, because that’s where all the kibble and treats are stored and they both know it. It’s common for opportunist Beaglets to make an unsanctioned excursion into that room whenever they’ve been let in from the garden, and once a Beagle is in that room, it’s difficult to get them out; it’s a cramped little space and the clothes airer usually impedes a direct scoop and eject maneuver. All that said, this morning we intentionally summoned the Beaglets in there for an emergency clean-up operation.

Stressed-out and short on sleep after our wonderful government’s latest covid roller-coaster ride, I was having one of those mornings where I’m particularly accident prone, or as I choose to view it, “inanimate objects are out to get me”. I needed access to a cupboard, so I shoved the dirty laundry bag out of the way. This in turn knocked over the large and recently filled kibble container, spilling a substantial amount of Chicken and Rice “Burns Alert” all over the floor, not to mention under the fridge and washing machine. I quickly recited the first page of the book of 4-letter expletives, whereupon Susan joined me to help scoop up the spilled kibble. After scarcely a minute of effort we both ran out of patience and decided to call in the professional cleanup crew.

Biggles was the first to arrive. If I were to liken him to a vacuum cleaner attachment, he’d be the big, broad floor sweeping tool. He’s great at picking up a big pile of debris in the middle of the floor, but he’s not so good at cleaning right into the corners and doesn’t cope too well with things that have rolled under heavy objects. Just as he was finishing up the bits that he could handle well, his little wiggly-bottomed colleague appeared.

To continue the vacuum cleaner metaphor, I’d say Beanie is most definitely the crevice tool, sucking up all the little stray bits that the big sweeper misses. She got straight to work and after less than 60 seconds of diligent sniffing and nibbling I was ready to thank her for a job well done. She however was not ready to call time on the cleanup operation; her nose was insisting that some kibble was still hiding under the washing machine. Her nose is never wrong. Not ever.

Reluctantly I grabbed a long handled spatula, got down on the floor and began digging about in the dark recesses under the washer. I flicked out some kibble and Beanie quickly vacuumed it up, but still her nose would not sign off on the job. The spatula wasn’t connecting with anything now, so I prised off an adjoining kickboard, revealing one and one half nuggets of Burns’ best. Now, finally, Beanie was prepared to declare the operation complete, but of course I still had to swear and curse my way though reattachment of the kickboard. It was a bit like the bad old days when I’d take the car into Kwik-fit for a specific fix, then spend the next day sorting out the new problems the “professionals” had generated. Still, if Beanie’s nose couldn’t detect any remaining kibble then neither would that of a passing rodent, so calling in the furry professionals had been worthwhile even if not particularly labor-saving.

We’re now set for the weirdest Christmas we’ve yet experienced, and I’m not the least bit confident things will be any better this time next year. What’s that supposedly Chinese curse? “May you live in interesting times” ? Yep, things certainly are”interesting”, and not for the first time I find myself wishing I was Beagle.

Eat, poop, possibly eat poop, have fun and when you’re pooped yourself, slip into a deep untroubled sleep. They’re lucky little pups to have such stable, happy lives, and we’re just as lucky to have them through all of this.