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Do I really need this shark suit to look cute?

Wow — I think I may have found my soul mate.  Listen to this e-mail from my new pal Brinkley:  “You posted you’re looking for stories and pictures to be featured in My Pals. I personally would not have chosen this picture or this story, but my beagle mom thinks it’s hilarious.  How can someone who has such good taste in dog biscuits have such poor taste in dog photos?  My beagle parents go to the beach in South Carolina every couple of years, and several years ago when shark attacks were up, my mom thought it would be funny to dress me up in a shark costume.  I have to say that I definitely got noticed, but since most people think all beagles are ‘oh so cute,’ was it really necessary to suffer the indignation of having to dress up?”  (Tell me about it, Brinkley!  I couldn’t agree more.  Beagle Man once tried to put me in a doggy football jersey.  Fat chance.)   “I guess I shouldn’t complain, though.  After all, some dogs have to go to the kennel when their parents go on vacation.  My parents not only take me, but my sister Bayley gets to go, too.”  All right, Brinkley!  As you know from my posts, I’m a road dog, too.  How ’bout I stop in and see you on LA/XC-3?  I love to visit other dogs.  Beats seeing that boring stuff B-Man goes for — like the Grand Canyon.  P.S.  I see you’ve got a red leash.  Same!

MY PALS WILL POP UP RIGHT HERE FROM TIME TO TIME.  IT’S ABOUT, UH . . . MY PALS.  IS YOUR DOG LIKE ME . . . HANDSOME?  MIND OF HIS OWN?  TELL ME.  MAYBE YOUR PUP WILL MAKE AN APPEARANCE IN “MY PALS.” SEND YOUR STORY AND PHOTO TO BEAGLE MAN .   HE HANDLES MY E-MAIL FOR ME.

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Meet Samie the Ferret

I know, I know — a lot of pix lately of Beagle Man with other pets.  Hmmm.  Well, at least this one’s not another dog, so I don’t really have a problem with it.  Meet my friend Samie the Ferret, who weighs in at a whopping 2 pounds!  Truth is, I don’t know how accurate that measurement is.  Slava and Luba, his owners, tried to weigh him on a postage scale — but he wouldn’t sit still.  Good for him.  That’s exactly what I do when they try to put me on the scale at the vet.  Seriously — who needs to know my weight besides me?  That’s confidential stuff.  Samie almost fell asleep on B-Man’s shoulder, which absolutely amazed S & L; they said he’s usually kind of hyper around strangers.  The B-Man has that effect, though.  Word has it that he used to be able to get Matt, Greg, and Robby — even Cousin Kat — to sleep when they were babies just by picking them up and rocking them.  I don’t know if it’s that he’s naturally comforting — or just boring — but I know it works.  When I’m feeling nuts, especially just before or after one of my seizures, he’ll hold me like that and soon I feel a lot better.

MY PALS WILL POP UP RIGHT HERE FROM TIME TO TIME.  IT’S ABOUT, UH . . . MY PALS.  IS YOUR DOG LIKE ME . . . HANDSOME?  MIND OF HIS OWN?  TELL ME.  MAYBE YOUR PUP WILL MAKE AN APPEARANCE IN “MY PALS.” SEND YOUR STORY AND PHOTO TO BEAGLE MAN .   HE HANDLES MY E-MAIL FOR ME.

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Happy 10th B-day, you handsome beagle!

You can follow Beagle Man on Facebook and Twitter

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When Mrs. B first brought up the idea of a visit to the Chapel Hill cousins, Beagle Man said, “Why don’t we drive down and take Ricky?”  Okay, I’ll give him that.  But he caved pretty easily.  When she said it would make more sense to drive to Philly, pick up Nana, and then fly to Raleigh-Durham . . . boom!  He was right on board.  So I missed out on

B&B: Beagle Man and Bingo. (Aw, aren’t they just adorable together?)

another great trip.  What else is new?  Adding insult to injury, I happen to know that the B-Man cozied up to Bingo, the cousins’ Chihuahua-terrier mix.  (Doesn’t he look a little bit like a squirrel?)  Bingo not only rode shotgun with B-Man; he actually sat on his lap while they drove together.  This is clearly something we’ll be talking about.  I could tell Beagle Man felt guilty.  He started telling me about how we’ll stop in Chapel Hill on LA/XC-3 in September and meet Bingo — and Roxie, the cousins’ other dog.  Yeah, we’ll see about that . . .

The Roof Rack Report (#roofrackreport on Twitter, for those who follow me already on @BeagleManHank) appears on Mondays, usually.  It’s about politics, travel, food . . . important stuff like that.

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I’ve said many times that there is absolutely nothing my dog won’t eat.  I’ve lied.  He won’t eat grapefruit.

I find this more than a little ironic, since I’ve eaten more grapefruit than any other human who has ever walked this earth.  I’m not sure I could prove that to, say, Guinness World Records standards, but I can tell you this:  I’ve had a grapefruit with every non-restaurant dinner I’ve eaten from the time I was about five years old.  When I was maybe ten I graduated from a half to a whole — and never looked back.

So maybe this is God’s way of smoothing out the relationship between me and my beagle, since he knows if Ricky even thought about snagging my grapefruit the way he’s stolen pretty much every other kind of food I eat, I would absolutely wring his neck.

Tomatoes.  There’s another food Ricky won’t touch.  This may be a show of solidarity with his brothers — Matt, Greg, and Robby.  I happen to love tomatoes in every shape and form.  I love them fresh-picked and juicy, straight from the garden.  I love the cherry tomatoes that explode like little bombs in your mouth.  I love tomatoes and mozzarella — Insalata Caprese.  My boys, on the other hand, are grossed out by the very sight of a tomato, and even now, at ages 31, 29, and 19, they carefully hand-pick all the tomatoes out of their salad and place them along the edge of my plate.  Maybe that’s where Ricky gets it from.

Oh — and mustard.  He doesn’t like mustard.  Though if a nice charcoal-grilled Italian sausage with a touch of mustard on it rolled off the serving platter and onto the deck within his reach, I somehow don’t think he’d stand on principle.

R.I.P.  I’d like to note the passing and bid a very fond farewell to Brodie, one of my favorite dogs of all time.  Brodie was a Golden belonging to our good friends Lang and Marilyn from Boston, and was Ricky’s earliest buddy.  (In fact, Ricky featured him in the very first “My Pals” post he ever wrote.)  I’m sure Ricky feels bad about the time he visited an already-mature Brodie when he, Ricky, was still a pup, and pestered him endlessly.  And I’m sure Brodie has forgiven him.  Brodie, you were a good, good dog.

LOOK FOR A NEW BEAGLE MAN POST EVERY THURSDAY.  OR PRETTY CLOSE TO THURSDAY.  COULD BE WEDNESDAY.  OR FRIDAY.  LET’S NOT GET TOO OBSESSIVE HERE . . .  OH, AND BTW, YOU CAN ALSO FOLLOW ME ON FACEBOOK AND TWITTER

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I overheard Beagle Man and the Mrs. talking about organizing a “family reunion.”  Huh???  I always thought Mrs. B and the B-Man were my mom and pop — and that Matt, Greg, and Robby were my bro’s.  Well guess what?  Turns out I have this whole other family!  There’s my mom, Cookie the Crumbsnatcher (I guess that explains that), my dad, Gentle Ben — and a whole bunch of brothers and sisters who I supposedly knew when I was a pup but I sure as heck don’t remember now.  So the plan was we’d maybe go for a drive and meet them — along with this lady Sandy, who brought us all up — in

Me, with Robby, in Templeton MA (2003)

Templeton, MA.  Now you know how I feel about road trips:  Put me in a car and I’ll go anywhere.  But I’m not so sure about this “reunion” thing.  What if those other dogs are obnoxious, and don’t do what they’re told?  What if they’re really stubborn?  What if I have to share my food?  If you ask me — which of course nobody will — I’d leave well enough alone.

Oh, and one more thing:  I want to give a shout-out to my pal Teddy, who’s having some health problems.  Teddy, I really hope you feel better soon!

The Roof Rack Report (#roofrackreport on Twitter, for those who follow me already on @BeagleManHank) appears on Mondays, usually.  It’s about politics, travel, food . . . important stuff like that.

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Still life with weaponry: old-fashioned electric heating pad; Elasto-Gel ice belt; reusable ice pack; heavy-duty knee brace; Velcro back brace; Biofreeze; Arthrotec; Percocet; Advil

Carol gets home from late-afternoon focus groups in Danbury.  She inhales her Arthrotec for her bum knee — and then swallows a handful of Advil for her back spasms.  She settles herself down gingerly, very gingerly, on the green couch in the den to check her e-mail — with our old pink heating pad on her knee and a reusable ice pack on her back.  Ricky takes this all in.

I come in just a little bit later from teaching my writing class at Trinity, and dive for my Percocet for my herniated disk.  Couldn’t have it before leaving Hartford; not legal to drive with that stuff in your system.  By now I’m in dire need.  I also strap my miraculous Elasto-Gel around my right thigh — that’s where the referred pain from my back settles — so the ice’ll stay with me wherever I go.  Ah, relief — finally!  I hobble over to the fridge for my chef salad, holding onto the Elasto-Gel so it won’t slide down my leg.  Ricky watches this, too.

I’ve already had two epidural steroid injections, but I’m still not quite there yet.  Carol has had a PRP (platelet-rich plasma) treatment, a blast of cortisone, and two 3-shot series of Synvisc injections, but she’s still suffering.  Hospital for Special Surgery and Greenwich Physical Therapy can thank the Hermans for single-handedly keeping them profitable.

When Carol finishes with her computer, and I finish my snack, she tosses two pillows on the den carpet, and together we hit the floor for our twice-daily workout.  Again, Ricky peers at us intently.  First, pelvic tilts.  One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand, four-one-thousand, five-one-thousand.  Then five sets of single-knee-to-chest, alternating left and right.  Followed by both-knees-to-chest.  Lower-trunk rotation.  Hamstring stretch.  One time, as we did our routine, I cracked up, and couldn’t stop laughing hysterically.  I was picturing our Olympic-caliber synchronized stretching being captured on Youtube and going viral.  Now, thanks to our son Matt’s cinematography, you don’t have to imagine:

We got up — again, the choreography was perfect — and went to talk to Luz in the kitchen.  Regular Beagle Man followers know that Ricky is madly devoted to his St. Luz, and even on normal days is distraught when she leaves.  He’ll stand for several minutes, staring at

No, Luz! Don’t go!

the garage door she’s just closed behind her, hoping against hope she’ll change her mind and come back.

Today, it’s a whole nother level.  You can ask Carol and Luz, and they’ll tell you the exact same thing:  As the three of us stood in the kitchen, Ricky looked up at me.  And then he looked up at Carol.  Then back to me.  Finally, he looked at Luz.  Imploringly.  And God strike me dead if he wasn’t saying, “And these are the people you’re planning to leave me with tonight???!!!

LOOK FOR A NEW BEAGLE MAN POST EVERY THURSDAY.  OR PRETTY CLOSE TO THURSDAY.  COULD BE WEDNESDAY.  OR FRIDAY.  LET’S NOT GET TOO OBSESSIVE HERE . . .  OH, AND BTW, YOU CAN ALSO FOLLOW ME ON FACEBOOK AND TWITTER

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Maybe it was something I ate, but I wasn’t myself the whole weekend.  I couldn’t seem to hold it in, and I peed on the carpet in the living room, the ping pong room . . . pretty much everywhere.  Mrs. Beagle Man was beside herself, literally screaming at B-Man:  “And you’re actually thinking of getting another dog?!  Well, it’ll be all yours!” I felt bad about the carpets, but I have to admit, it was pretty funny watching Mrs. B go nuts.  So on Sunday my friends Frankie & Roxy come over, and I wink at Frankie as he waddles in.  He’s a dachshund, and we hounds stick together.  Next thing you know, he takes a whiz right next to the foosball table!  Poor Mrs. B has to act

Three amigos

like it’s no big deal, because Frankie’s “company,” but I can tell she’s boiling. Then, while she gives Hal and Carole a tour of the house, Frankie poops in the master bedroom!  By now Hal and Carole and B-Man and Mrs. B are tripping all over each other for the Nature’s Miracle and the paper towels . . . and Roxy slips away for a stealth pee by the Franklin stove.  The grown-ups clean that one up, sit down for lunch, and I can’t resist:  I poop right next to the dining room table! OMG, Frankie and Roxy and I almost died laughing.  Those two are the best. I’m gonna have to have them over more often.

The Roof Rack Report (#roofrackreport on Twitter, for those who follow me already on @BeagleManHank) appears on Mondays, usually.  It’s about politics, travel, food . . . important stuff like that.