Last week while we were on vacation at the beach, I got to noticing something; dogs have got it made now. I really hadn’t paid it any attention, but dogs, and cats too, have quit being pets and have now become more like one of our kids than anything else. Most of us around the half-century mark, when we had a dog, he slept outside, he didn’t have a favorite TV show, most of them if they saw a fan, would just sit and stare at it, trying to figure out where the breeze was coming from? Now we have dogs, that if they go outside, their tongues are dragging five minutes after they feel the hot air. Back in the day, dogs had two functions, look after the kids, and keep varmints, such as skunks, snakes, and traveling salesmen from the house. Now they are fashion accessories, with sweaters, if I had tried to put a sweater on my dog Casey, he would have bit me, and now that I think of it, I wouldn’t have blamed him.

I saw dogs last week that haven’t ever seen a mud hole, much less drank out of one. One of them looked like a ball of cotton, with two eyeballs. Another one had his hair cut so as his head was twice as big as his body, plus the one that was big enough to have been saddled; he was going in the house behind a lady, like he was one of her kids. And all I could think of is, Lady if he makes a mess, I’m glad it’s you instead of me that has to clean up behind him.

I don’t know why I feel that way, because I’m getting just as bad, because I’ve got Doc, he thinks he’s the son I never had. And he’s a four legged young’in if I ever saw one. Except he’s never going to grow up like the other two. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not comparing my two beautiful daughters to this mutt, but when they were little, you could say there were some similarities. And some of them do seem kind of spooky. Like when they were little, Mel would tell them to get out of the kitchen, they would, they would go right to the edge of the carpet, technically out of the kitchen, and just stand there. Guess what he does when I say, “Get out of the kitchen?”… and want to guess where he’s standing? Same spot!

I’d go in the kitchen to sneak me something out the fridge, time I close the door, one of my beautiful daughters would be just behind the door, “Can I have some Daddy?” Now when I close the door, guess who’s standing there with the same look on his face? Or either Mel would say, “It’s time for a bath,” you talking about kicking and screaming. We don’t even say it around Doc, we have to spell it; he will run and hide when he hears the water running. Then when we do catch him, he’s dead weight; just hanging there in their arms, like he’s on the way to Death Row.

It use to be if I made a motion towards the door, “Daddy where you going, can I go?” Doc doesn’t do that, if I make a move towards the door, he beats me to it, there isn’t even any discussion; I’m going, so he’s going, plain and simple.

When the kids were little, around eight o’clock or so it was bed time, and like most families, there was the usual bargaining and begging going on, now we have a different problem. I’m serious he can tell time! At eight o’clock he has to have his Scooby Snack, and there is no peace till he gets it. He’ll get in front of the TV, did you know that a remote signal will not pass through a beagle, and he knows the exact spot. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning waiting on Dad to fix his coffee so we can open presents. “It’s eight, time for the Scooby Snack, what’cha waiting on?” And don’t think that you can ignore him either, sooner or later HE”S going to win, and you’re going to get him one, if for no other reason so that he will leave you ALONE! And don’t think you can stare him down either, beagles don’t blink!

Remember when your kids were little, when they were fighting sleep, and they would crawl up in the chair with you. It would be bed time, and just so they could get that last few minutes of staying up like the big folks, they would crawl up there with you. They would snuggle in, and before you knew it, you would be carrying them to bed. Well I’ve got two problems now: one Doc thinks he’s one of my young’ins, so now he wants me to rock him to sleep. And two, remember a couple weeks ago I mention my chair was on its last leg, well the other night he jumped his big butt up on the foot rest … and liken to launched me out of it.

But I guess it’s my fault, most days it’s just me and him, and the cat, and she hates us so she doesn’t count. And he feels like he has to take care of the old guy, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll slip up and forget what time it is. Cause any time could be Scooby Snack time.

Just ask Doc.

You can reach Robbin Bruce by e-mail at robbinbruce@yahoo.com.