Took me awhile to get caught up also.
Sorry to hear about your Beagle GC, I kinda have a soft spot for beagles myself.
I grew up running beagles with my Granddad, he had some fine dogs and it is still a fond memory of mine to think back to the days when we would sit in the still morning fog listening to his dogs chase rabbits. Those memories are too many to recount, but your story brings me to a tale that happened many years after that.
Though I was never the hounds man my Grandfather was I always dreamed of being like him. He passed on not too long after I was able to get to the woods by myself, and I strived to do all the things I watched him do. I had many dogs growing up, many of which were beagles (none minded very well due to my inexperience). As long as they chased rabbits it made me happy and I had a good time chasing fur on several farms that bordered our property.
At that time it was unheard of to have your dog on a leash, and we had no pins so they just layed on the porch waiting for there next time in the field. Of course they roamed for themselves from time to time, as we saw most of the neighbors dogs and kept feed out for any dog that was to wonder by. Times were changing though and strays were being let out in the country at a rising rate. Our old ways of leaving food out changed and the wondering dog was now run off rather than fed. Talk of strays running cows was on the rise and just about everyone shot strays on site in fear of their calves being harmed. Many farms were changing hands also at that time for numerous reasons from deaths, money, or whatever the reason may be, but non the less the country was changing.
I can remember it like it was yesterday. We returned home from church one Sunday to find my favorite dog Buster laying on the porch in a pool of blood. Matter of fact there was blood everywhere. My Dad checked him out and found he had been shot through the neck, more than likely by a newly bought neighboring ranch. At that time we had had Buster for several years and he was hardly expendable to me or my parents. My dad saw the urgency of the situation and my Mother, Sister and I went back to my Grandmothers so he could figure out what to do. He was thinking he was just going to put him down, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he cleaned him up and took him to the barn, it was either get better or die, as he wouldn’t put down my childhood dog. We all returned an paid our last visits to Buster as we all thought he would surely die. Several days later Buster had not eaten anything, and drank very little, he had also not moved hardly at all since my dad had placed him there, he was surely going to die a painful death. That’s when Dad decided it was time to put him down. He went to the barn with his pistol, we all new what was about to happen and we all were quite upset about it. As he walked up and pointed the pistol at Buster he staggered to his feet, stumbled over, and laid his head on my dads foot, that was it, my Dad came back to the house. Over the next couple weeks Buster started to drink more, eat regularly and finally became the dog he once was. The dog he once was, except he couldn’t bark! That’s right the bullet had damaged his vocal cords so all that came out was a muffled cough. I can still hear Buster to this day chasing rabbits around the barn and hearing his Hooooouggggfffff. It was the funniest thing you have ever seen, a Beagle that couldn’t bark.
Buster finally died of old age, and left a lasting mark on our family for sure.
I hope your dogs recovery keeps going as planned. I know they can overcome some overwhelming odds.
Take care,
Todd
