Some of you may remember that I developed knee problems last year. The cause of the injury only became clear to me after surgery when I started taking walks with Nemo, the family beagle.

If you’ve raised one of these critters you know that beagles are mostly nose, and that nose leads them into all kinds of trouble. Their keen sense of smell is also the reason they are, according to some professional trainers, only about 85% trainable. Once they get a whiff of something interesting, everything else goes out the window.

I realized as Nemo began to pull on his leash after my surgery, or alternatively as I began to pull on the leash to haul him back, that I felt the tension in my injured knee. The initial cause of the problem became perfectly clear.

Nemo.

I turned the dog walks over to my husband. (more…)

In the spirit of recycling, something I’m getting quite adept at as I get ready to move, today I’m recycling a blog from September 2010 about my silly beagle Nemo.  I’m pleased to tell you that Nemo is, of course, still with us and every bit as neurotic as I paint him in the following paragraphs.  Also every bit as good at “sniffing out the story.”  I’ll be back on Friday with something new.

I’m still not quite sure how this happened.  One moment I volunteered to dog-sit for the pathetic puppy that my son and daughter-in-law had  rescued from the path of a bush hog and nursed back to health.  The next I was on the telephone with my husband, who was out of town at a conference.  “Remember that beagle puppy the kids are trying to find  a home for?  Well, they found one.” 

Then, mimicking the words of generations of small children before me, I added:  “Of course since this was my decision, I’ll do all the work.”  And I meant it. . . exactly the way all those little kids had.

Today Nemo, the rascally beagle puppy, is an adult lap dog.  While the puppy Nemo never met a creature he didn’t like, the adult Nemo is much more reserved.  Show him a deer and he looks the other way.  He terrorizes sticks and rocks exclusively, leading us to view more x-rays of a beagle stomach than we ever hoped to see.  While he has his private pack, my husband and me, the son and daughter-in-law who rescued him and their dogs, most of the rest of the world is excluded, unless they come with treats in hand.  I spent more money this past week discussing Nemo’s peculiarities with my vet than I would have spent at a psychiatrist.

Today on our walk, after I pulled him past a monster trash Dumpster, through sprinkles of acid rain, across Beagle-Bashing-Boulevard (two lanes, no traffic) we finally got to the woods (most likely the same woods where Little Red Riding Hood met the wolf).  At the border Nemo dove under the thickest canopy of trees, plunked himself down and stared at me as if to say: “You go ahead, I’ll be here waiting.”   Although my arms are now as sturdy as tree trunks from hours of beagle pulls, I gave in and home we went.  Along the way we passed the world’s smallest and cutest cocker spaniel.  Nemo, of course, gazed at the horizon, and the friendly little interloper went its merry way.

And that’s when Nemo showed his true colors.  While completely uninterested in socializing with this potential new friend–a harmless friend twenty pounds lighter and inches shorter–Nemo was now utterly fascinated.  He sniffed every inch of the dog’s path to that point, until he knew all there was to know.

Voila!  I finally understand.  Nemo has the heart of a novelist.  No wonder I fell in love with him.  Nemo, like those of who write, is most comfortable tracing the paths of others, finding out where they’ve been, maybe even wondering where they might next go, than he is in actual encounters.  He is a detective, happiest ferreting out the intricate details, the secrets, and yes, the evidence left behind. 

Even before that revelation, I wouldn’t have traded a scrap of fur from Nemo’s blue tick body for a less neurotic dog, but now maybe I can relate to him a bit better.  The next time he puts nose to the ground to follow a scent no human could ever detect, I will understand.  Nemo’s looking for a story.   If only he could talk.

Nemo, our rescue beagle, loves everybody, but some people are particularly special to him.  The son and daughter-in-law who found him in the woods as a puppy and nursed him back to health and into our home.  Other family members.  My cleaning lady and my assistant, both of whom have provided pet care in the past.  

To show his love and appreciation, Nemo unfailingly greets them with gifts.  These are not necessarily things they would think of asking for.  A chewed up blanket.  A dirty sock straight from the laundry basket.  His leash.   Rarely Nemo’s own toys, I’ll admit, but still, you can’t fault the dog for his generosity and his desire to let visitors know they are treasured members of his pack.

Spring is not an unexpected gift, of course, although every year as winter drags on and on, we wonder if this is the year that spring forgot.  Then, a snowdrop pushes through ice-crusted soil, followed by crocus, daffodil, hyacinth and on a larger scale, forsythia. 

Here in Northern Virginia, we’re sure spring has arrived when cherry blossoms begin to appear.  And as they and the Japanese magnolias begin to fade and carpet the ground with pink, the dogwood, redbud appear, and finally, our glorious, breathtaking azaleas. Expected yes, but still, somehow, a surprise.

Nemo and I take a walk together every morning, another gift a beagle gives.  This time of year we take the same walk every day.  Up the road about half a mile from our house, is an embankment of azaleas on the edge of public land.  A genius planted them.  There are masses of every color, an azalea rainbow, and they open slowly, so that every day we have a different view to admire.  The show goes on for weeks, and we try not to miss a moment of it. 

This year the spring parade of color has lasted longer because of cool, wet weather.  That means we’ve been outside less often to enjoy it, but when we are able to get out, the sight and smell of spring is so heady, we can’t make ourselves go back inside. 

The best gifts are unexpected.  A gloomy spring whose glimpses of sunlight and bursts of color are appreciated that much more.  A silly beagle dropping an old sofa pillow at my feet out of love and gratitude.  And for me, this spring, those bursts of insights a novelist receives, those moments when, in the midst of kneading bread or sewing a quilt square, a plot point drops into place, or two characters have a conversation and I can only listen and nod. 

Maybe half of being alive is paying attention, and the other half is saying thank you.  Nemo has this figured out, but we humans can be slower.  Luckily, we have spring and azaleas to remind us.  For this, I’m grateful.

I’m still not quite sure how this happened.  One moment I volunteered to dog-sit for the pathetic puppy that my son and daughter-in-law had  rescued from the path of a bush hog and nursed back to health.  The next I was on the telephone with my husband, who was out of town at a conference.  “Remember that beagle puppy the kids are trying to find  a home for?  Well, they found one.” 

Then, mimicking the words of generations of small children before me, I added:  “Of course since this was my decision, I’ll do all the work.”  And I meant it. . . exactly the way all those little kids had.

Today Nemo, the rascally beagle puppy, is an adult lap dog.  While the puppy Nemo never met a creature he didn’t like, the adult Nemo is much more reserved.  Show him a deer and he looks the other way.  He terrorizes sticks and rocks exclusively, leading us to view more x-rays of a beagle stomach than we ever hoped to see.  While he has his private pack, my husband and me, the son and daughter-in-law who rescued him and their dogs, most of the rest of the world is excluded, unless they come with treats in hand.  I spent more money this past week discussing Nemo’s peculiarities with my vet than I would have spent at a psychiatrist. (more…)

We celebrated Labor Day in Virginia’s Piedmont, surrounded by rolling hills and mountains.  One night we sat in a screened-in pond house at sunset with wine and cheese and family, waiting for the night noises to begin.

It’s not unusual to have all manner of animals tiptoe down to the pond for their own nightly snacks and drinks, and we hoped to see and hear their exploits.

Unfortunately, the night was quieter than those in our suburban yard in Northern Virginia, which is a hop, skip and jump from the White House.  I think we were much too rowdy, and the animals much too intimidated.  My children swear there’s a beaver family enjoying life in the pond, and something is indeed felling the trees around it.  But until I see the critters myself, I’m not a believer.  Same goes for the regular bobcat visitation and the bears.  We didn’t even hear bullfrogs.

We can always count on wildlife when the family gets together, though.  This weekend we had four dogs happily in residence together.  But it was a stranger’s dog, Mouse, who drew my attention.  She like our Nemo (photo: www.tworingstudio.com), was a throwaway pup.  We came across Mouse and the man who saved her at a nearby construction site where we had stopped to see how a neighbor’s house was progressing.  Mouse and Nemo romped together as we compared stories with her new owner.  Mouse was “dropped off” near the site some months ago, and by the time the contractor found her, she was nearly starved.  She was obviously a throwaway since she’d had a litter of pups recently, apparently a good enough reason to get rid of her.  Having experienced an identical scenario once with one of our dogs–only SHE was tossed out of a car on the Interstate–we were familiar with this story.

Mouse now has a wonderful home and she’s a corker.  And our Nemo, is beloved, after nearly dying as an abandoned puppy before my son happened upon him in tall grass beside a country road.  The contractor told us about another dog he’d rescued, who, like Nemo, was barely weaned and found not far from Nemo’s rescue site.

I can’t help but think anybody who takes the time to read my blogs is not a person who would ever dispense with a dog the way some people choose to.  I’m sure every one of you neuters your pets, loves them, cares for them. You’re richer for the experience, and happier.  You’ve told me as much.

Mouse and Nemo and all the other rescue dogs out there, just want you to know they are among the lucky ones, as are their owners.  There are people who toss dogs out of cars and people who save their lives.  If there’s a moral to this story, I’m still working on it.  But for Mouse and Nemo, happy endings are alive and well.  

 ****Don’t forget to enter the Happiness Key Beach Bag giveaway. See Contest Page for details

Never having owned a beagle, when people asked if puppy Nemo had found his voice, I found the question odd.  Yes, Nemo growled, and barked–or something that passed for one.  And sometimes, Nemo even howled.  This last was charming, a serenade similar to the one our Australian Shepherd used to warble when he sang along at birthday parties.

Then Friday night, as I was getting ready for bed, I was jostled from the bathroom sink by the most ear-piercing, soul-rending, neighborhood-enraging sound I ever hope to hear.

Now I understood the questions.  Nemo, on a stroll down our street with my husband, had found his voice.

We have an interesting mix of dogs on our block. Onie and Raven are schnauzers who flank our house like twin sentinels.  Across and down the street are look-alike poodles, who make it clear that any other dog had better keep its distance.  At the farthest end are three mini-residents who yap for hours when grass rustles in the wind.  

(more…)

Nemo and I take a morning walk almost every day.  Nemo’s particularly fond of snow and ice, and Emilie is not.  Despite this, we find ways to cope.  A regional park not far from my house offers trails through the forest, as well as a wide road that’s plowed at the first sign of snow.  On snowy mornings I walk the road and Nemo prowls the woods as far as his leash will allow.

Our park offers more, as well.  Deer are a common sight, deer not afraid of humans nor rambunctious beagles.  In the past Nemo has studiously ignored them, turning to look the other way, as if to say, “I need some time for rest and mediation, thank you.”  In fact Nemo, who was clearly bred for hunting, ignores nearly every living thing except people and insects.  He is as brave as a lion when his prey is a cricket or moth.  Squirrels are fine as long as they’re already heading up a tree.  Squirrels on the ground?  Rabbits?  Not so much.

(more…)

Nemo came to live with us two summers ago.  We had always had dogs, but after finally losing two old friends, we decided to take a break.  As much as we missed Kiwi and Dingo, there was something nice about just locking the door and walking away when we wanted to visit children or travel.  There was always time to get another dog, when our lives were less hectic and the sadness had healed. We were thinking years, maybe a decade. 

Then we got the call.  We’d gotten one like it before.  Kiwi came to us via our oldest son, who found her, a little chihuahua mix running back and forth on the Interstate in a terrible thunderstorm.  When he stopped to see what was going on, she jumped in his car.  She was ours for fifteen years.

(more…)