Thursday, June 27, 2013

There's a Hole in My Beagle

There's a hole in my beagle, dear readers, dear readers!
There's a hole in my beagle, dear readers, a hole!

Yeah. Tank the beagle has a hole in his left haunch. The Pony saw it when he let the goats out Tuesday morning. "Hey, Mom! I think Tank got in a fight. He has a bite out of his side."

Let's not delve into the concept of karma too deeply. Tank is the dog who sank his teeth into our sweet, long-haired, yellow-duct-taped-board-horned Nellie. Sank them right into her side, and held on like a vicious snapping turtle waiting for thunder, while she trotted across the yard trying to escape. All over a piece of bread that he was too lazy to grab before that docile white goat, formerly owned by a little old lady as a backyard pet. He wasn't even attempting to get the bread, just venting his rage on Nellie's hirsute flank. I don't think he broke the skin, just chewed a mouthful of hair for about 50 feet until she jostled him loose.

It's our own fault, I suppose, for allowing Tank to maintain possession of his babymakers. He has little dog syndrome, too. But he's pretty much too lazy to go looking for a fight. If it's not a bigger dog eating scraps to be snarled at, or a timid goat, he's all bark. So I was a bit surprised to hear that he had tangled with a critter. He doesn't chase after wayward yard dogs, or the horses across the road floating around under their summer blankets. Only barks, mostly from the safety of the porch. He's too lazy to roam far abroad. He used to run rabbits through the woods down by the creek every morning, but he's slowed down since his adolescent days.

I went to look at the wound. It was bigger than a quarter, but smaller than a half-dollar. Round. Right on that muscly side-hip area. It was, perhaps, a half-inch deep. He licked it intermittently. You know dog saliva. It's a miracle salve for what ails you. I told Hick about the crater that evening. And it hit me. "Do you think somebody shot him?" It's happened to our neighbor. Not the man. The man's dog.

Hick took a look. "No. It's a bite, not a shot. Something got ahold of him."

We're keeping an eye on the wound. It doesn't ooze. Looks like it's healing. Tank doesn't limp. We once took a mailbox cat to the vet because it was bitten on the chest, and the bite kept stretching open. A half-dollar size hole showed the transparent connective tissue holding in the muscles.  We spent nigh on $100 for an exam and antibiotic ointment, only to have the vet say on the way out, "Cats get these injuries all the time. It looks terrible, but they heal right up on their own."

The patient is being monitored. He has voiced no complaints, and seems content to convalesce on the porch while waiting for leftovers to be tossed his way, or the FedEx driver to invade his space.

Something is afoot in the hinterlands, and that something has teeth.


  1. I castrate all my men. In a manner of speaking. Cujo, the new pup already has his surgery scheduled. A round hole is odd. That dog saliva is a wonder.

  2. You have more mysteries around your place than Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys combined.

  3. Maybe all these mysterious occurrences are like a summer dinner show. They've arranged themselves for your entertainment...and they're all writing fodder.

  4. Maybe the chupacabra is lurking about your corner of the woods.

  5. Linda,
    I have no idea. My psychic powers are on vacation with this one. Hick says it looks like somebody punched a hole with a cookie cutter. I don't know what bites like that, not leaving teeth prints with canine punctures. How about horses? Skunks? Armadillos? I'm drawing a blank. A lamprey, perhaps, but as far as I know, Tank has not been swimming with the fishes.

    This beagle man was a gift from The Veteran, who invested in a purebred, offspring of a field trial champion and a show champion, though obviously not an obedience trial champion. The Veteran was assigned a job at Fort Leonard Wood and could not keep his pup. So he gave it to his little brothers, Genius and The Pony. We couldn't see hacking off the champion baby-makers.

    Fitting surroundings for a conundrum wrapped in an enigma riding the horns of a dilemma.

    Well, you know me, always one to embrace the strange and unusual, and shout, "Encore! Encore!"

    There's an idea. On second thought, DO NOT Google "chupacabra bite marks" if you want to sleep tonight.