It has been, for the most part, a very cosy and snuggly Christmas and New Year at our house. Our two pairs of pups are feeling like a real pack of four now, indoors as well as on walks and in the garden. That’s not to say that Beanie and Biggles don’t still have the occasional grumble at the youngsters – Monkey in particular – but very often it is kind of warranted.
Yeah Dad I know you told me to leave that bag of firewood alone, but, er.. this bit was chewy..
See Poppy? I told you there was room for two in this bed!
We got Monkey one of those exploding disk balls for Christmas (it squashes down to a disk shape, then unpredictably springs back into a ball). Things did not go well. It turned Professor Monkey’s understanding of physics right on its head and terrified him! How did Arthur C. Clarke put it? “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”. Well that ball is magic of the blackest, most dangerous kind!
Fortunately in the midst of all this festive horror Monkey discovered a tennis ball that had been hiding in a cupboard somewhere and it’s become his favorite toy in all the world. He entertains himself for ages throwing it round the room, waiting until it stops moving then pouncing on it. It’s the best fun, but sometimes when he throws the ball it lands by Beanie’s bed and then he’s faced with the same dilemma as countless naughty human boys who’ve just lost a ball in a neighbor’s garden: is it better just to accept that play is over for now, or risk a righteous telling off by going to get the ball without permission. Monkey has a very expressive face and I can almost see the different stages of his thought process as he assesses the risks and benefits of DIY ball recovery. If he decides to go for it it he keeps low as he approaches the ball and snatches frequent, nervous glances at the Beanster, mischief written all over his face. If she’s sufficiently sleepy or she’s in a good mood he may get away with his ball unscathed, but more than once he’s been sent scurrying under a table with a caustic “Warrrhhhhhh!”
Is it safe? Is she alseep?
Nope! Time to scarper!
Beanie by the way is in incredible shape at the moment. Back in August when we got her little wheeled buggy she was a frail, old little thing who likely wouldn’t see 2024. Now, thanks to frequent servings of “golden paste” (turmeric and black pepper mix) and canned fish she’ more robust, has much more energy and is leading a full life again. I did a little photoshoot with her over Christmas; in recent years I’ve had to discard lots of shots because the Beanie I’ve known all these years was somehow not present behind her eyes. This time none were discarded for that reason, though plenty were binned because she wouldn’t keep still and kept wanting to harass me for a treat. That’s 100% normal Beanie. We have to keep reminding ourselves that she is after all still 16, but however long this period of rejuvenated Beanie lasts, I’m grateful for it.
As for Biggles, well he’s also benefitting physically from the same dietary tweaks as Beanie, but all the turmeric and Omega 3 in the world can’t quite replace the marbles he keeps losing. Sometimes just before bed he has a mad hour, and goes sprinting round the house with stolen socks and woofing. That’s good fun – albeit ill-timed – and fairly characteristic of a much younger version of The Bigglet. It’s less fun when he stands on the spare bed, faces into an empty corner of the room and woofs his head off. It’s also less fun when he woofs to go out into the garden, forgets why he went out, woofs to come back in, remembers that he needed a pee, and woofs to go out again, all right when we’re meant to be having our dinner. Most of the time he’s a happy, contented and cuddly boy though, and as long as there’s a good helping of that kind of Biggles in each day, I reckon he’s doing alright.
The dietary changes that are helping our oldies all came from our desire to find a drug-free approach for managing Poppy’s epilepsy – kind of her gift to Beanie & Biggles. It’s still too early to guage how well everything we’re doing for Poppy is working, but she’s loving her new diet. Back when she was still eating kibble if she finished first she’d try to knick a few extra mouthfuls from Monkey’s bowl; now she’s only got eyes for her own homecooked food. Each morning when her pre-walk breakfast is served (or “first breakfast”, in Hobbit terms) she shoots out of bed and sprints into the kitchen faster than a frightened rat. She’s also becoming a bit of a cheeky break-in artist. I’ve just planted vulnerable, young hedging plants in our vegetable garden and I’ve been working very hard to keep her out of it. She’s been able to get through the stock fencing that surrounds the garden for some time and I’ve been running extra wire to close off the gaps, but as fast as I close off one Poppy entry point, she finds (or makes) another.
As good as Poppy is at breaking into things, Monkey’s even better at breaking out. Over Christmas he learned to unzip his travel crate in the van. The first time it happened I just thought I’d forgotten to zip him up, but then it happened a second time and he wandered up to see us in the front of the van while I was driving, as though to say: “Hi guys, I wasn’t liking being in my crate so I just let myself out. That OK? And do you mind if I check for crumbs around the pedals while you’re driving Dad?”. Needless to say we’ve made a few changes to Beagle sleeping arrangements and Poppy now sleeps in Monkey’s travel crate indoors, while he has her metal house crate in the van. So far his attempts to break out of this new Monkey containment device have been unsuccessful, but I figure it’s only a matter of time before he figures out the crate latching mechanism. As that old but popular Japanese martial arts show use to say: “The nature of Monkey is irrepressible!”
That’s about it for now; I hope you had a great Christmas and have a great year ahead of you!
