A Guilty Beagle

When I arrived home this morning from working all night, I saw my beagle and Shih Tzu sitting in the apartment window, waiting. The beagle had a pensive, nervous look that told me some overnight crime had been committed. He had either messed the floor or gotten into the cupboards again.

It was the latter.

I have learned to leave no trash under the counter, unless I want to find coffee grounds everywhere. To see butter wrappers smeared into the rug. But his last two raids have been into my baking cupboard. His first victim was a bag of Mexican natural sugar. What he ate of that must have tasted better going down than staying down since he vomited it all back up. (Another reason why I need my own carpet steam cleaner.)

Last night's raid was more ambitious. He could not figure out how to open a Tupperware container full of House Of Autrey seafood breading. He left it lying. But the cornstarch and cornmeal in plastic bags were broken open. I do not think he ate much. Straight cornstarch must not be too palatable . He did not care for the dried up bottle of lentils I used for blind baking either, but that did not stop him from scattering them all over the kitchen floor.

He ran and hid when I walked in, as well as he should have. And I must now move flour up and cookware down. Since I must work tonight and have no time for kitchen relocation's today, I will barricade King Arthur's flour with a ladder up against the cabinet door.

One must really love dogs to own them. To let them live in the house. To become their maid . I remember a Mrs Southern Living type I once worked with who bought her daughter a miniature schnauzer. In three days the dog  was gone.

"He made the house filthy", Mrs Southern Living wailed, "I have to follow him around with a broom".

No one with such housekeeping standards should ever own a dog.  For a dog owner wears his dog's coat to work. He smells the dog in the rug. The dog  is ever present.

I try to understand dogdom. I brought home the Shih Tzu as much for the beagle as for myself. I read "How To Be Your Dog's Best Friend", by the Monks of New Skete over and over. ( The  monks bred German Shepherds). I feed my dogs twice a day. They are not starving.

Yet the beagle will not stop foraging. No lower cupboards are safe. And if he can stretch enough he can steal a dozen peeled shrimp I dried in a paper towel and left on the counter. I know. He is sneaky.

And the reason none of the vacuum cleaners I picked up for free at the apartment dumpster are adequate. No- I was forced to buy a $600 Dyson Animal to clean up after my animals.

I repeat. One must really love dogs to own them.

I wonder what the beagle is planning tonight.