Every Friday this summer I watch Beagle Man packing up the car. The big green duffel. Mrs. B’s red, flowery overnight bag. B-Man’s backpack. The blue beach bag with the RKH on the side. And then, they pat me on the head, say, “Bye-bye, Cutey” . . . and take off without me! Talk about cruelty to animals. Last Friday, though, they sunk to a new low. They got the car all loaded, lifted me in — I’m like, “All right! We’re off to Montauk! I’m finally going!” — and next thing you know, they head to Main Street and leave me with Luz!
Now don’t get me wrong: You know I love Luz to death. She spoils me rotten, and I get to hang with Nena the Chihuahua all weekend. But it’s the principle. You just don’t get a dog’s hopes up — especially a dog who lives for car rides, like I do — and then, seeya! They keep referring to the beach house as a “construction site,” and say they’re afraid I’ll fall through the unfinished floors, or wander off the edge of the deck, because there’s no railing yet. What, I’m a bigger klutz than Mrs. B? I don’t think so. Besides, all my buds — Romeo, Bandit, Monty, Tripp — they’re out there partying every weekend . . . and asking for me. And dogs aren’t elephants, you know. Pretty soon it’s gonna be, Ricky who? I mean, seriously, Beagle Man. Man’s best friend?
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.