Are you ready for more tales of a demon beagle? We will continue our saga of Hank, although if you haven’t already I suggest you check out Part 1. And so, dear readers, our tale continues where it left off; with a devilishly smart beagle.
We moved into a new house a few months ago. We left the forests of Castlewood for the wilds Ellisville, a scant three miles away. As we settled into suburban bliss we all adjusted to the subtle changes; more space, more people, more traffic… just more. Madison loved the paved streets, perfect for learning to ride her bike while Hank chased her. Jack would watch and just laugh. Life was good.
Then, on one not so spectacular Friday afternoon, all hell broke loose. It started off as a typical day. I went to work and the kids were at home with the baby-sitter. Greg had the afternoon to toil at the duck club, cleaning out the barn. I was just stepping out of a meeting when I received a tense call from Greg. There was an accident and he had managed to poke himself in the eye with a wire. I will spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that it was gross and he needed a doctor ASAP. I was at the other end of town at the time, but fortunately his parents were home to help. We all sprang into action; I rushed home while Greg was whisked away to the eye doctor. Luckily the injury, while pretty deep and very serious, would not cause permanent damage. Greg was given medicine and put into bed for the night.
To add to the chaotic nature of the evening, I was scheduled to baby-sit for a good friend. Madison had been looking forward to having the twins over for a week and quite frankly I was looking forward to having someone over to keep my little monsters occupied. With Greg settled comfortably in bed I went to pick up pizza and the kids. It wasn’t until I returned home with dinner and a couple of miniature house guests that we realized that the beagle was not begging for his slice of pie. I looked in bed with Greg, a frequent haunt of the beagle, and to my surprise he wasn’t there. I searched the house while the kids ate and then the neighborhood trying to find Hank. He was gone.
We made frantic calls to our neighbors both current and former, the animal shelters, the police and finally posted pictures on Facebook. Even though Hank was micro-chipped, we worried that he would wander into traffic and get hit by a car. We worried that he might tangle with a wild animal (Hank sometimes has “big dog” syndrome and thinks that he is tougher than he is.) We worried that he wouldn’t come home. It was the crappy icing on an already crummy cake. With a few friends we wandered the neighborhoods surrounding ours calling out for Hank, with no luck at all. We went to bed that night minus one little demon beagle.
The next morning, after more calls to our vet and the micro-chip company, we resigned ourselves to the waiting game. We got dressed and were just getting ready to leave (to another doctor’s appointment for Greg’s eyeball) when the doorbell rang. Greg and I looked at each other and ran to the door. There was a tall blonde woman, holding Hank on a leash. “Is this your dog?” she asked. Hank ran in the house and flopped on the couch. “I thought he might be yours,” she said with a smile. Then she told us how Hank had spent his evening.
Hank, sensing an opportunity in the chaos, snuck out of the house sometime in the early afternoon that Friday. Around the corner and several doors down are a couple of small businesses that operate out of older homes. One of these businesses is a tree service, whose sales force was not always good about latching the door all the way. Hank, returning to his felonious roots, took the opportunity to break in and scope out the food situation. The owner was out, running errands and wrapping up her week when she received a call from one of her salesmen.
“Did you know that there is a dog in the office?” he said.
“What do you mean a dog in the office?” she replied. “Like a living breathing dog?”
“Yep, it looks like a beagle,” he said.
“I think he may belong to the new neighbors,” she said. “I’m on my way.”
She picked up Hank and brought him home but no one answered when she knocked. Hank’s timing was perfect, I had just left to get the kids and Greg was knocked out by pain pills. Not wanting to leave Hank to his own devices she thought the best idea was to take him home with her and try back in the morning. Hank was more than willing to hop into her car and go home with her, where he romped and played with her dogs and cuddled with her husband before dining on a steak dinner. They put Hank in the garage for the evening and went to bed. Around two in the morning her husband woke up to go on a fishing trip.
“Be careful not to let the beagle out of the garage,” she cautioned. “I don’t want him to run away.”
“The beagle isn’t in the garage,” he said.
“WHAT!” she exclaimed, sitting up in bed.
“Nope. Look down,” he said pointing to a lump in the covers. “When I woke up the garage door was wide open and the dog was in bed with us.”
In short, Hank broke into an office. Took a ride out to Washington, MO where he spent a relaxing evening dining on steak, playing with dogs and snuggling in some random bed. While we wandered the neighborhoods looking for him Hank took a little vacation with fine dining and lavish accommodations. It was no wonder that he was exhausted when he came home to us on Saturday. We thanked the woman profusely while Hank snored away on the couch.
We bought Hank a new collar with new tags, since he managed to lose his old tags just prior to his little adventure. (Murphy’s law in full effect, the dog will only go missing the day after he has lost his tags.) We updated his profile on the microchip to account for his new address, his greying coat and little weight gain thanks to his pillaging ways. I doubt this will be the last time that Hank pulls a Houdini and escapes for a little adventure. I tell you this story as a cautionary tale, since Hank’s sneakiness knows no bounds. Who knows, the next house he breaks into could be yours.
Hide yo’ food. Hide yo’ wallet!
Lock your doors and bolt them tight, since the demon beagle haunts the night. Hide your trash and guard your food because there is no stopping this sneaky dude. And should the beagle ever grace your door, be forewarned he has the tendency to snore. I will tell you what will lay ahead, empty plates and a beagle in your bed. That is the sole purpose of today’s blog, to warn one and all about the demon dog.
This even looks like a mug shot, doesn’t it?
Let me start by saying I love dogs. My dogs are part of my family, my furry children. I have two. We have Charlie who is equal parts chocolate lab and unconditional love and then there is Hank, who is part beagle part devil sent to test my patience. We are a dog family, so much so that dodo (which means dog) was both of my kid’s first words. It is with a mixture of love and annoyance that I now tell the tale of Hank, demon dog extraordinaire.
Hank is a smart dog. No, it is more than that. Hank is an evil genius. He is a little super-villain trapped in a 35 pound, furry body. Like every super-villain he has one key object of desire. Lex Luther had a lust for power, Dr. Evil craved millions in cash, Hank the Demon Beagle has an insatiable appetite for people food. You would think that we never feed him the way he pines for pizza or dreams about desserts. Trust me, this dog eats. He eats his food, he eats Charlie’s food and still he turned to a life a crime to get his fix.
That’s right, my dog is a criminal. At first his misdeed’s were limited to our house. He would get on the counter and help himself to anything he could find. Then he discovered the trash can and all of its disgusting food scrap glory. Out of concern for his health we tried to keep his people food addiction in check, after all he wasn’t making good food choices. His favorite, it seemed, was double dark chocolate brownies. (Which he ingested the evening Greg and I had tickets to the World Series. His timing proves that he is a super-villain.) Hank has eaten chicken bones, mouse poison, Legos and finally a glass Christmas ornament that he thought was food. We became very well known at our vet’s office.
We Hank proofed the house, keeping all of the food well out of Hank’s reach. The cookie jar was moved to a tall shelf, because Hank had learned to push the nearby kitchen chair to the counter. The trashcan was locked in the pantry and the only food Hank was permitted to have was in his food bowl. That is when my beagle turned to a life a crime. Hank started breaking into my neighbor’s houses.
I told you Hank was a smart dog. If he had opposable thumbs we might all be living in the kingdom of Hank. Even without dexterous digits Hank has mastered opening doors. He has figured out that if he puts his body weight against the door while pawing at the handle he can make his escape… or his illegal entry. While living in Castlewood, out in the middle of the woods, Hank would bust his way out of our house from time to time. He always came back in an hour or so, we didn’t think much of it. We thought he was taking little beagle romps through the woods. That is until my husband, while tinkering in the lawn, waved to my neighbor who was taking the trash out.
Jerry, the neighbor, is an interesting guy. He is pure Castlewood,which means equal parts ingenuity and kindness with a liberal splash of redneck and a pinch of crazy. He is an awesome neighbor. He is also a confirmed bachelor who lives on pizza, BBQ and Busch Light beer. He also forgets to lock his door on a regular basis, apparently. On this day, while taking out the trash, Greg overheard Jerry’s grumbling rant.
“You can always tell when Hank has been over,” he mumbled. “The trash can is knocked over, the pizza boxes are licked clean and the cat food is gone.”
“Jerry, what are you talking about?” Greg asked.
“Oh, Hank lets himself in about once a week and helps himself to the cat food and anything else that might be sitting around,” was Jerry’s reply.
Greg apologized profusely the asked, “Jerry, how long has Hank been doing this? ”
“Oh, just for the past 6 months or so,” came the reply.
“Jerry! Why didn’t you tell us sooner?!”
“Well, it is survival of the fittest at my house. If the cat wants the food the cat should defend itself,” Jerry said.
Like I said, part kindness and part crazy equals VERY understanding neighbor. Little did we know that this was just the tip of the iceberg of Hank’s criminal activity. He had broken into 4 of my 6 neighbor’s houses. Taking advantage of an open door while unloading groceries or a screen not quite latched properly he would make his move. Every time he went in on a search for food. At one neighbor’s he ate the rottweiler’s food, proving that he was fearless in his pursuit of culinary crime. At the other neighbor’s he cleaned up some leftover oatmeal from breakfast.
He was well known in the neighborhood, despite our efforts to keep him on the straight and narrow. Whenever our backs were turned he would escape and head out on his criminal escapades. Our neighbors would kick him out and send him home. Hank would crawl into bed at night content in the knowledge that he had the world (or at least Castlewood) on a string.
That is until we moved, and Hank went missing.
(Stay tuned for part II)
a life just ordinary 