Reagle Beagle

A few years ago my husband and I decided to adopt a six-month old beagle.  We found him online through a local dog rescue organization.  His pictures were irresistible.  Seriously, he was the cutest puppy I've ever seen.  But, the best part was that his biography said he was house broken and crate-trained and knew how to sit and shake hands.  What a deal!  The worst thing about puppies is the potty training.

After filling out a detailed questionnaire, we scheduled an appointment to meet Mr. Perfect and have our house checked out for suitability.  As we set up the appointment, the rescue organization mentioned that if the meeting went well, they'd just leave the puppy with us at the end of the appointment.  I was thrilled!

Early on a Sunday morning, at the appointed time, a woman from the rescue organization basically showed up at our house, shoved the beagle inside, wished us well, and took off.   In retrospect, I think perhaps she was a little bit too eager to get rid of the little guy.

The first 30 minutes with our new puppy, he raced in full-speed circles around the living room. Eventually he slowed down....for about one minute...just long enough to take a giant dump in the middle of the living room. And then he began running again. And continued running almost constantly for the next two years, with a few breaks here and there to destroy things, bark (a terribly loud beagley bark), or attempt escape.

Countless fights with my husband (him begging to send the puppy back and me heartbroken thinking of giving the poor little guy up) and many tears later (only a few from my husband), my husband has now accepted our beagle as a part of our family, even though either my husband or I still want to kill him at least once a day.  It only took two or so years to get to that point...one chewed up cell phone, one chewed up remote control, one shredded swimsuit, at least 10 shredded towels, three chewed books, 100 destroyed tennis balls,  five blankets with  chewed corners, one gnawed on Bible, one $2,500 tennis-ball removal surgery, 500 more accidents in our home (including a few that seemed more purposeful than accidental) and two years to get to that point.  Although, I will admit that if it weren't for his irresistible adorableness, he would have been on home number 3 (or 4 or 5, for all I know) a LONG time ago!