Beagles Are Not Dogs

If I were ever to write an autobiography, each section would be centered around the beagle that I had at that particular stage in my life. Childhood was the Age of Nickie, a period that tragically ended at age 12 with her sudden death, a loss I still feel 64 years later. With her, I was the envy of every student as Nickie was often allowed to sleep under my desk in school. Adolescence was the Age of Dixie, a Baltimore legend for her exploits. Maybe the fattest beagle to ever waddle the Earth, she at least partially disproved the myth that chocolate is bad for dogs by consuming a two-pound box of chocolates ... followed shortly thereafter by downing 54 hamburgers in one sitting. (That’s not a typo ... 54.) She elicited the only profanity I ever heard my father utter as she dragged a large can of bacon grease onto my parents’ newly acquired Oriental rug. After finding she had rolled in it repeatedly, my father launched a vulgarity still reverberating in Earth’s atmosphere today. We later discovered that she was a daily visitor to the local butcher shop. My mother did not appreciate periodically finding a greasy leg bone hidden in our couch. Dixie, defying medical science, lived to be 18.

The first year of Jackie’s and my marriage was the Age of Susie, the beagle who learned to open a refrigerator and who reigned terror on the 6th hole of the college golf course, where she hid in a bunker, then ran off with the golf ball when players chipped onto the green. Because they couldn’t see her from their vantage point below the hole, that green became legendary as the haunted hole where balls vanished into the spirit world. Jackie and I considered opening a golf shop with all the golf balls we accumulated.

Early adulthood was the age of Porky, who grew to fit her name, maybe the laziest dog to ever walk the Earth. However, she always found the energy to walk to her food bowl each day. Next was the Age of Obie, who tragically lost her leg in a muskrat trap. The accident never slowed her down as those three legs terrorized every rabbit on our property for many years.

The period after the death of our son Andy was the Age of Maggie, the comical canine who guaranteed that no day would pass without laughter. A frequent visitor to a retirement home, she was the only individual that one patient would talk to. A weekly attendee at a local elementary school, Maggie even rode the bus on field trips and made the school yearbook. Bailey, the next beagle, went into a depression after Maggie’s death, prompting the arrival of Maizie. Bailey in her prime was agile enough to climb a tree. She was the paramount food thief, so quick she could steal from one’s plate without their ever seeing it. Maizie watches TV, howling at every car insurance commercial, and spends the remainder of her day searching for food and begging for belly rubs. She gets me up at 3 a.m., not for food or a bathroom break, but for that early-morning belly rub.

The Age of Zoey is overlapping the Age of Maizie, double the laughter and quadruple the trouble. Zoey, in her first year, has learned to open every cabinet and drawer, forcing us to fence off a good portion of our house. She has taken the normal beagle stubbornness to a whole new level. I never realized Jackie was capable of anger until Zoey appeared.

People often ask if I would recommend that they get a beagle, and they’re always surprised when I hesitate. If you want an obedient pet that will sleep at your feet and accompany you on a walk, don’t get a beagle. You have to understand – beagles are not dogs. They are a unique species. We jokingly refer to them as “evolution gone bad.” People take dogs for a walk. Beagles take you for a walk. Dogs come when you call them. Beagles don’t. You can throw that training manual away; beagles will train you.

Need quiet when taking that important phone call? A beagle will guarantee you hear little of the conversation.  Euclidean geometry does not apply to beagles; for them, the shortest distance between two points is definitely not a straight line. And a dog would never eat itself to death. When there was a dog food scare several years ago, we wondered how much chicken and vegetables to feed our beagle. The vet’s assistant recommended seeing how much she would eat in 15 minutes and to use that as a guide. After she woofed down an entire bowl in 45 seconds, we figured that she would exceed her body weight in food long before 15 minutes.

Dogs generally will not look you in the eye. A beagle will stare you down until you cave and give it a snack. If you’re eating, they’ll casually look the other way. This is to distract you because they are about to move in for the “kill.” That sandwich or cookie you’re eating will suddenly disappear.

You would be right to figure that a nose with a body attached would not be a normal animal. Beagles have multiple personalities. The lazy eating machine in your house becomes a wild maniac outdoors. When we decided to get a remote signal collar for Maggie several years ago, we noticed two brands: one for dogs and one for beagles, appropriately called the Beagler. “What’s the difference?” I asked. The dog collar has an audible tone you can use before progressing through the six shock levels. Once a dog learns that a shock follows the audible tone, like Pavlov’s dog, they soon respond to just the audible tone. The Beagler, however, only has the six levels of shock. As we were told, beagles will always ignore the audible tone and many times even the shock. They were right. If Pavlov had researched beagles, he would never have formulated the concept of classical conditioning.

I’m convinced that not only is laughter the best medicine, but it may be one of the keys to a long life. Even the best life is laden with challenges, stress, and tragedy. Beagles are natural comics, and I challenge you to try to have a bad day with a beagle staring you in the face. They are not the easiest dogs to have because, like a child, they require constant attention. If you want a faithful pet, get a dog. If you want to add a rambunctious, loving child to your family, get a beagle. They’ll drain your bank account, frustrate you with their antics, and keep you from that task as you suddenly end up with 35 pounds in your lap. You can discard that vacuum, as a beagle leaves no crumbs on the floor and is also far more energy-efficient than a dishwasher. Their motto is “leave no molecule behind.” However, as payment, you’ll have to provide that 3 a.m. belly rub.

Heaven, it is undoubtedly well-populated with beagles, which is why Saint Peter issues you ear protection when you pass through the gates. Want to live to be 100? Get a beagle. You might die poor, but you’re guaranteed to die happy.