Lara Zielin

If you have a dog and it’s not terribly inbred, then you know pooches learn the word “walk” pretty quickly.

That’s what happened with us, anyway. We’d be all like, “It’s a nice day. Maybe we should take Amos for a walk,” and his little head would tilt with interest, sometimes coupled with the single-ear flop. Like this:

Then he’d run for the door and start whining. With a beagle such as ours, this is tolerable for about five seconds before you give in and go on the stupid jaunt.

So then, like most canine owners, we started spelling the word.

He’d be lazing around like so, a sausage of quiet content …

… and Rob would casually remark, “I think it’s a lovely day for a W-A-L-K.”

And then whammo.

He’d learned the spelling, too.

After this, we got slightly more creative. W-A-L-K became “hoohoo the heehee,” spoken out of the corner of one’s mouth. Like it was film noir and you were also smoking a cigar.

“The natives look a little restless. I suppose we should [imagine Cary Grant here] hoohoo the heehee.”

But then that, too, eventually resulted in this.

Which wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t accompanied by the aforementioned whining, anxiety yawns, and scratching at the door. I mean, just because we say hoohoo the hee hee doesn’t mean we actually WANT to hoohoo the heehee.

So, this morning, we came up with a new expression. We’re at an all-time low here, people.

“Amos, the doctor will administer the colonoscopy now.”

Yes, you read it right. We’ve devolved to medical terms. Here, it results in one eye open. But no head tilt. Yet.

“Amos, I said, the doctor will administer the colonoscopy now.”

Nothing! We’re safe.

For now, anyway.

Amos is our beagle. If you need background on Amos, please read this or this.

Some beagles sit with Linus in the pumpkin patch and wait for the Great Pumpkin. Others crawl onto the kitchen table and lick the pumpkin seeds, which Rob roasted with Worcestershire and salt and pepper.

I love pumpkin seeds. I get them once a year. I wish I could say that Amos’s assault on the seeds made me grimace and throw them away in disgust, never to touch them again. One of those things happened. The others did not.

For those of you who wish to judge me, go for it. I bet you’ve never eaten food out of the trash can or employed the five second rule.

I bet you don’t have a beagle.

For the record, Amos also howled at the trick-or-treaters (scaring more than a few of them), ate candy from the candy bowl, and didn’t look as cute as the neighbor’s collie, which had been dressed up like a bee. All Amos got was an on-sale t-shirt at Target that had “Boo” written on it.

Still. He got the pumpkin seeds. So, technically, he wins.

I never claimed Amos was the smartest beagle. The naughtiest? Maybe. But his little canine brain is still trying to work some things out. Like whether the hose is friend or foe.

All I can say is, if Amos and the hose had a fistfight, I’m pretty sure the hose would win.