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| Photos courtesy of www.freephotosBeagles |
"Just five days, and we'll be in Key West. So in case of an emergency, we won't be far."
"Is Sargent trained?" Linda asked. "You said he's only a puppy."
"Well, mostly. He's pretty good at night till early morning. We've done some impulse control training with him and relationship-building exercises. I'd keep him on a leash, though, since we didn't finish the focus training without a leash. We never got to where he'd come back on command."
"You know I love dogs, so we'll give it a try. When do you leave?"
"Next Sunday. You won't be able to resist him! We'll call you Sunday morning before we drop him off. Thanks so much!"
"It shouldn't be too bad," Roger said, trying to convince himself. "Beagles are pretty small and they have a happy-go-lucky temperament, don't they? Their tails are always wagging."
"I guess we'll soon find out!" Susan replied. Over the course of the week, Linda removed small carpets and doggie-height accessories and stored them in a closet. She bought a $44.97 machine-washable, faux fur "Calming Dog Bed," sure she'd convince Rog to get a puppy if Sargent was a compatible house guest. She also purchased a collapsible gate, several chewable toys, a special training pad, a chow bowl, doggie treats, and the food Susan had suggested.
The following Sunday morning Susan appeared at the door with Sargent in her arms. Linda and Roger invited them in and closed the door behind them. Susan gave Sargent a kiss on his ear and a last hug while Sargent licked her neck. Then she deposited him and a bag of Sargent's "necessaries" on the floor.
Like a lightning bolt, Sargent was gone. Linda and Roger caught glimpses of his tail as he turned corners, racing from room to room down the hall. "Thanks again," Susan said. "We'll see you on Friday. Call if you have any issues." And then she, too, was gone.
"Sargent! Sargent! Come get a treat," Linda yelled on her way down the hall, as Sargent streaked past toward the kitchen in the opposite direction. "Rog, grab the gate and keep him in there! His bed's in there."
But Roger wasn't fast enough. Sargent skidded on the glossy kitchen floor and escaped past Roger into the living room where Linda stood watching. There, right in front of her, he lifted his leg and squirted against the base of the coffee table.
"Bad dog!" Linda yelled, cradling the dripping Sargent and carrying him to the training pad in the kitchen. "Rog, for God's sake, put up that gate! I'll get the leash and take him outside."
On the leash, Sargent took off after a squirrel and yanked Linda's neck so hard she couldn't turn it back to the right. Under his belly he began to dig in the soft earth where Linda had planted daffodil bulbs. "No, Sargent!" she yelled, yanking him as hard as he'd yanked her. Not only didn't she want her bulbs disturbed, but God forbid if Sargent chewed them and got sick, or worse, poisoned himself!
She got him back into the kitchen and closed the gate Rog had installed. "I need some Aleve and a glass of wine," Linda announced.
"But it's only 11:00," Rog said.
"It could be 7:00 a.m. for all I care! I'm already exhausted and they just left." While Linda gulped down a couple of pain relievers and poured both of them a glass of wine, Sargent nipped at her ankles.
"But it's only 11:00," Rog said.
"It could be 7:00 a.m. for all I care! I'm already exhausted and they just left." While Linda gulped down a couple of pain relievers and poured both of them a glass of wine, Sargent nipped at her ankles.
"After I get the mess in the living room cleaned up, let's sit down to talk. I don't know what we've gotten ourselves into! Could you get the heating pad for my neck? Sargent yanked me so hard I can't turn it."
On her hands and knees Linda used a cleaning product for urine. She retrieved her glass and plopped down on the sofa next to Rog, who had already plugged in the heating pad. "What's that noise?" she said.
"What noise?" Rog couldn't hear a thing and refused to get hearing aids.
"That scratching noise." Linda dumped the cleaning product and heating pad onto the sofa and headed for the kitchen, wine in one hand.
"Oh no!!! Rog, come here!" When Roger arrived, Linda was inspecting new scratches on the hardwood floor. "I knew I heard scratching. Look at this! We've got to get this puppy off the hardwood. It will have to be refinished! I'm going to put him in the laundry room with his bed and training pad. He can't do any damage to the tiles in there. Please bring some of his toys in."
Linda laid newspapers from the laundry room to the back door and took Sargent for another walk before securing him in the laundry room. Then she and Rog collapsed onto their bed for a nap. Barking awakened them. "Let him bark!" Rog said. "It's like a toddler having a tantrum." Linda got up.
"We're going to get calls from the neighbors." She went down the hall and cracked the laundry room door open.
"I don't believe it! Rog, come look at this!"
"What now?" Not only had Sargent chewed his training pad, he had ripped the clothing into shreds that had been waiting for a wash.
"He must be teething," Roger said.
"No kidding!" Linda said with venom in her voice. "I can't take much more of this. Please get on the phone to Susan and tell her what's happened."
"They're probably in Key West by now," Roger said.
"I don't care. Ask her what she wants us to do."
Roger knew better than to argue. He dialed his daughter. "Honey, it's dad. We have a problem. We can't control Sargent. He's already peed in the house, scratched the floor in the kitchen, torn the laundry to shreds, and yanked Linda's neck so bad on the leash she needs a heating pad. What should we do?"
When Roger got off the phone several minutes later, he showed Linda a piece of paper. On it he'd written a website for training Beagles. "What's this?" Linda said.
"Susan said this website will help us reprogram Sargent's mind so he wants to please us. Then he won't be bored and destructive. I guess they can't be trained like normal puppies. She already took out a subscription to this website."
"Lovely! We're supposed to spend OUR time finding out how to train HER puppy while she's enjoying herself. She could have told us all this before she dropped him off! I don't want any supper. Get your own!" With that, Linda stormed to the bedroom and slammed the door. A minute later she stuck her head out and yelled, "And don't forget to feed the mutt!"
Roger got on the internet. He learned Beagles' brains weren't wired the same as other dogs' brains. He read step-by-step instructions about when to give Sargent attention and when to ignore him; what tone of voice to use that didn't involve shouting; how to show Sargent who was boss by the way he held him; and how to reward Sargent's good behavior.
Roger fixed himself a sandwich and watched a little television. Linda still hadn't come out of the bedroom. Roger tried to apply some of the things he'd learned when he took Sargent for a walk after they both had supper. Somehow Sargent managed to pull 220-pound Roger to the neighbor's trash can, turn it over, and help himself to some of the contents.
Blood started to drip from Sargent's lip. "What the hell?" Roger said, bending down to examine.
"Got to take Sargent to that 24-hour vet," Roger yelled to Linda inside the house. "He must have cut himself on a tin can in the garbage. I need you to hold him in the car."
Linda's muscular arms that had earned blue ribbons for gardening cradled Sargent in the car. Covered in a knit throw blanket, the Beagle quieted. "Now we know what works!" Roger said. "We'll just keep driving around for five days."
Before bed, they gave Sargent another of the pills prescribed by the vet. Sargent never whimpered all night. They repeated the dose in the morning and got Sargent ready for his car ride. Their pill supply lasted five days. They had asked for a refill in case they needed it.
"Oh no!!! Rog, come here!" When Roger arrived, Linda was inspecting new scratches on the hardwood floor. "I knew I heard scratching. Look at this! We've got to get this puppy off the hardwood. It will have to be refinished! I'm going to put him in the laundry room with his bed and training pad. He can't do any damage to the tiles in there. Please bring some of his toys in."
Linda laid newspapers from the laundry room to the back door and took Sargent for another walk before securing him in the laundry room. Then she and Rog collapsed onto their bed for a nap. Barking awakened them. "Let him bark!" Rog said. "It's like a toddler having a tantrum." Linda got up.
"We're going to get calls from the neighbors." She went down the hall and cracked the laundry room door open.
"I don't believe it! Rog, come look at this!"
"What now?" Not only had Sargent chewed his training pad, he had ripped the clothing into shreds that had been waiting for a wash.
"He must be teething," Roger said.
"No kidding!" Linda said with venom in her voice. "I can't take much more of this. Please get on the phone to Susan and tell her what's happened."
"They're probably in Key West by now," Roger said.
"I don't care. Ask her what she wants us to do."
Roger knew better than to argue. He dialed his daughter. "Honey, it's dad. We have a problem. We can't control Sargent. He's already peed in the house, scratched the floor in the kitchen, torn the laundry to shreds, and yanked Linda's neck so bad on the leash she needs a heating pad. What should we do?"
When Roger got off the phone several minutes later, he showed Linda a piece of paper. On it he'd written a website for training Beagles. "What's this?" Linda said.
"Susan said this website will help us reprogram Sargent's mind so he wants to please us. Then he won't be bored and destructive. I guess they can't be trained like normal puppies. She already took out a subscription to this website."
"Lovely! We're supposed to spend OUR time finding out how to train HER puppy while she's enjoying herself. She could have told us all this before she dropped him off! I don't want any supper. Get your own!" With that, Linda stormed to the bedroom and slammed the door. A minute later she stuck her head out and yelled, "And don't forget to feed the mutt!"
Roger got on the internet. He learned Beagles' brains weren't wired the same as other dogs' brains. He read step-by-step instructions about when to give Sargent attention and when to ignore him; what tone of voice to use that didn't involve shouting; how to show Sargent who was boss by the way he held him; and how to reward Sargent's good behavior.
Roger fixed himself a sandwich and watched a little television. Linda still hadn't come out of the bedroom. Roger tried to apply some of the things he'd learned when he took Sargent for a walk after they both had supper. Somehow Sargent managed to pull 220-pound Roger to the neighbor's trash can, turn it over, and help himself to some of the contents.
Blood started to drip from Sargent's lip. "What the hell?" Roger said, bending down to examine.
"Got to take Sargent to that 24-hour vet," Roger yelled to Linda inside the house. "He must have cut himself on a tin can in the garbage. I need you to hold him in the car."
Linda's muscular arms that had earned blue ribbons for gardening cradled Sargent in the car. Covered in a knit throw blanket, the Beagle quieted. "Now we know what works!" Roger said. "We'll just keep driving around for five days."
Before bed, they gave Sargent another of the pills prescribed by the vet. Sargent never whimpered all night. They repeated the dose in the morning and got Sargent ready for his car ride. Their pill supply lasted five days. They had asked for a refill in case they needed it.
