Thursday, January 2, 2014

My Mister Beagle-butt

Nine years ago we brought this hound home and named him MacGuyver. Yes, like the show. It is spelled wrong, I know, and I have only myself to blame. C got him for me for my 22nd birthday/Christmas present. We adopted him from a family who had gotten him as a puppy and had hoped to train him as a hunting dog. A duck hunting dog. If you are familiar with beagles at all, you likely know that they are traditionally rabbit hunters, and they prefer to avoid water unless they have absolutely no other option other than, say, death. I once carried MacGuyver into a lake up to my thighs just to prove that the water wouldn't hurt him. He swam back to shore and gave me what can only be described as a withering look. He will get his paws wet on very hot days but will not willingly get anything else damp. You might say he's a little prissy. You might be right.

I will likely write more about him in about a month when he turns ten. In the meantime, he's napping on my bed in the beagle nest he's made.

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