My Cat the Beagle

I have a beagle. Beagles are bad dogs.

O.k., maybe that's a bit strong, but our beagle is not a good fit for our family. She is not a cat. She is loud. She howls at squirrels and rustling leaves. She grew at least 4 inches taller than she should have. She eats more of the cat's food than her own. She cools herself in the summer by standing her dusty paws in her water dish. She fails to bark a warning when a stranger approaches our door, but can't let it go if another dog walks down our street.

The worst thing she does is run away. If ever the opening of our front and back patio doors coincide, she senses it and is in through the back, scrambling and scratching across our newly-laid wood floor, and heaving herself out the front before we have a chance to know what's happening. Poor Cuddlebug, in one of her more innocent moments she is usually an unwitting accomplice in this hasty escape; oftentimes I am the other. Always, I am compelled to make a good show of trying to retrieve her. The children used to break into tears, but seeing that their mother is not well-suited to such unnecessary drama, they have learned to keep a stiff upper lip. Every time it happens, we remind them that the dog will return if she wants to live here, and they usually console themselves and one another with plans for chickens and kittens as soon as the chase is underway.

The chase: this is the maddening part because she's a pretty smart dog - not smart enough to know a good thing when she's got it, but smart enough to evade capture when she wants to be free. There is a fair amount of calling to her, in various tones by a choir of voices -- to no avail. Dog treats don't work. Sometimes she'll jump into the car, but not if I'm driving.

The other day, she ran away twice in two hours. We were clearly not on top of our game that day. Husband was in the shower after a long Saturday of outdoor chores, so I was left to chase her around our cul-de-sac myself. Actually, not all by myself -- quite a few neighbors came out to help. A nice gesture on their part, for sure, but not really a blessing because I knew that this wasn't going to end well. Some of them knew it too. It was an awkward 20 minutes of coaxing, reaching, falling short and laughing nervously.

I really hoped she would run far away and that I would be helpless to catch her, but that isn't how it played out. One hundred yards up the street, she met a woman pulling her toddler in a wagon with one hand and holding the leash of her own big, black dog in the other. My dog was in no way a threat, but was being a menace: unwanted licking of the child, inappropriate sniffing of the dog -- and not necessarily in that order. Ugh. I approached, apologized and again made a good show of an attempt at capture. Trying to catch our dog is like playing with the like-sided polarity of a couple of magnets. In the end, I vainly followed this woman around our entire block, audibly calling off my dog, secretly cursing her, but continually working for the sake of Christ. Yes, for Christ's sake I was pursuing my dog. To avoid avoidable shame and scoffing to the name of my Savior was the only reason I continued that humiliating chase. I hope to be a witness for the Lord in this neighborhood, and don't want to negate that testimony by inconsiderate behavior.

In the end, the neighbor lady got home safe, (if not molested) Husband took over the chase with his car and brought back the dog. When I asked him how he caught her, he said that he commanded her to, "Sit!"

Stupid dog. I want a cat.