Anibus the Egyptian God of the Dead 

A Bag of Dire Consequences

Chapter 3

Let me describe Mr. Beaureguqrd.  He is about Four inches tall, about 6 inches long, and weighs about 3 pounds. He has four white feet, a little blaze down the front of his face with shoe button eyes that actually gleam! His coat is mostly brown with his back mostly black. His little tail has a white tip at the very end. I later discovered that this marking is very convenient. Let me tell you about how he moves. YOU CAN’T SEE HIM! He is invisible. Not just quick, not just fast, not just an Olympian of gold medal contention, but like Superman, he is faster than a speeding bullet.

Like Pandora that was shut in a Box, I had unceremoniously stuffed Beau into a small carry on bag that was to be his home on our airplane ride back to Eureka. Like Pandora, when I put my hand into the bag, all hell broke lose.

Teeth, little piranha teeth let me know the unhappiness level of this little being. During this physical assault his head popped out, and twenty two legs scramble out with furious intent.

One thousand HOWL level. One thousand screech level. How could this very small little hound dog have such talents? Piranha teeth, 22 legs, and a set of tonsils that Pavarotti would be jealous of.

“Polly, Polly, He is getting out!”

Poor Paula, driving a car on the freeway, with the bag of a puppy masculine Pandora on loose. Inhaling a large breath, and thinking that I must be smarter than he, I sneak my hand behind him, and try to put him back into the bag.

Swivel Head!!! Did you know that Beagles can swivel head? His little head started to gyrate clockwise and now he is making an airplane engine sound. He is going to lift off just like a helicopter!

“Polly, Polly, he is turning into a fighting machine.”  He is a miniature marine in disguise!  This is my dancing boy, my little companion that  will go on long peaceful walks to Old Town?  Little Marine boots with spikes that’s what they are, not soft puppy paws….

Once more I delude myself thinking that I have the more intelligent grey matter. I throw my  leather coat over him believing that he will not be able to navigate in the dark. He becomes a submarine. Crawling on his little belly, he finds the light of day, and once more becomes Pavarotti. 

Thinking was not the answer. Behave like a mother dog. Smack the little beast. Instinct provides the answer, and it does work. Mother beagles do it all the time, a little tough love is sometimes required. After all we are on the freeway, and the thinking process is not solving the problem. It works! Back in the bag he goes, but not with out his famous rendition of the Marine battle hymn sung in Beagleize with Italian baritone overtones.

Polly is very quite. I have broken my daughter’s ears, and she will never be the same. The bag of dire consequences has had a strange effect on both of us. She being the ultimate professional administrator pushed to the limit but enduring and me feeling like the road taken this morning was a horrible mistake.

We did arrive at Polly’s work place and the ladies came out to see this puppy of wonder. They lined up like aunties and grannies, and each one wanted to hold him and make it all better.

Now comes the unbelievable part. When I opened the travel bag, little Beaureguard looks at me with his small black button eyes with an expression older than Anubis. Big difference though, Anubis is the Egyptian God of the Dead, and Mr. Beauregurad was obviously the God of the newly born Hound Puppies. He also smiled. Puppies can smile…it makes for good forgiveness policy. He verily leaped into each woman’s arms and gave out with feverish delicate puppy kisses. Not those nosily wet gross licking kisses which most dogs give out, no his kisses were soft, loving, and beguiling.
The Beagle Smile

“What did you do to him to make him cry so desperately he seems like the perfect little gift of the Puppy Gods”?

Both Polly and I tried to present our side of the cries that the ladies had heard on the phone, but there was disbelief all around. After Beaureguard had made his conquests of his female harem, we were told that we just didn’t know how to treat a new puppy, and that they had books to give us for dog  problems when traveling. “Just give him a few drops of Night Song, and he will be good as gold”. This was the advice of the woman who was considered a great source of natural products for dogs and we were told we could find this at a Natural Food Store.

Climbing back into the car we were quiet disillusioned about the whole idea of this new little being ever becoming a domesticated puppy and the idea of a small dancing beagle was fast becoming a dream filled with despair. What was going to happen on the way back to Eureka? How could I possibly keep him quiet on the airplane, and would the little Beau ever love me?