Things have been getting weird for Monkey and Daisy of late. One day they went to bed for a nap and when they got up, large chunks of the patio and the deck had been walled-off by a hotch-potch of improvised barriers, and the steps had moved. The next day the part of the deck where Daisy really likes to do poos just plain disappeared, revealing a very intriguing underfloor area that was crying out to sniffed; that sniffing of course couldn’t happen because of the barriers. The situation was totally unacceptable and there were a number of very vocal protests. Even worse, their primary Humie servant (me) started spending long hours in the no-go zone making strange noises and saying the sort of words that are usually reserved for when a Beagle has done something really, really naughty.
On next Sardine day (the day when Beagle teatime nosh has sardines on it), things went from bad to much, much worse. Every visit to the outside loo was now conducted on lead; there were no opportunities for romping round the garden chasing squirrels or each other’s bottoms, no chances to apply their collective problem-solving skills to getting the fatballs out of our bird feeders, and no big walkies. It was terrible! The only thing that made it half-way tolerable was the Sardine aspect of Sardine Day. That and a couple of servings of chicken feet. And lots of cuddles and tummy tickles. A new pair of hooves was also given out to ease the anguish, but they didn’t quite work as intended, at least not for Daisy.
When she first got her hoof Daisy was very happy, but then she looked at Monkey’s hoof and discovered that by some horrible mistake, he’d been given the best one!
Negotiations followed this revelation, and after he’d been chewing away for ten minutes or so, Monkey agreed to a swap. Monkey seemed perfectly happy with the swap, and for a time, so did Daisy, until she realised that somehow Monkey still had the best hoof. A further swap was arranged, but incredibly Monkey again came out with the better deal.
Exasperated by the unfairness of it all, Daisy complained, and after several minutes of ear-bashing Monkey gave up on the whole hoof-chewing thing; he went to select something from the toybox instead, leaving Daisy with both hooves. Finally all seemed to be well, but then Daisy realised that Monkey now had a toy that was even better than her hooves! The injustice of it!
Staying as calm as she could in these trying circumstances, Daisy sought to resolve the situation in the fairest, most logical way a Beagle girl can: she tried to nick the toy out from between Monkey’s paws.
Things got noisy, and pretty soon nobody cared about the hooves or the toy. They wrestled, they took turns humping each other, and then they fell asleep snuggling each other, which is pretty much how most days end whether they involve Sardines or not.
By the end of Sardine day Storm Eowyn had burned itself out. Thankfully all the stuff we’ve built and planted in the garden over the last few years escaped harm, though both our neighbors suffered fence and various other damage. Monkey and Daisy are now back to roaming free in their garden and enjoying their walks (in fact walks have got even more enjoyable because there’s always a fallen tree to sniff and scramble over), but the Beagle no-go zone up on the patio will have to remain until I’ve finished the refresh of the deck. And despite all her protestations, Daisy still gets the raw deal when new hooves are handed out, no matter how many times she swaps with Monkey :)
