Routines

I’ll bet most of you have figured out by now that Beagle Man is a creature of habit.  That’s why, when he walks through the door at Jack’s Coffee in Amagansett in the morning, Brian, the manager,

will say, “The Hank-wich?”  (That’s egg-and-cheese on a baguette, FYI, which Beagle Man orders every single day.)  And Chanisse or Kelly or one of the other baristas will say, “And a large cold brew with skim?”  (Yup, also every day.)  But let me start this routine from the beginning.  First, Beagle Man puts my harness on, which means we’re riding in the Jeep.  Or (more often) he forgets to grab my harness, curses, runs back up the stairs, and then puts my harness on.  He drives into town the “back way,” to avoid Route 27, with his iPod blasting — which is okay, because we like the same music, and we both like it loud.  My hair blows in the wind.  His doesn’t.  He parks in front of

Gloria Jewel (ladies fashions) on Main Street, we both get out, and I pee on the flower box.  We walk over to Jack’s, he gives me a treat from his pocket, hooks my leash under the leg of the bench out front, and tells me to be a good boy.  (Totally unnecessary.)  He comes out with his iced coffee and sandwich, sits down, and then gives me one treat for every bite he takes.  Meanwhile, about a billion people stop and say what a gorgeous dog I am, especially my “crimped” ears — whatever that means.  On a good day, Beagle Man will run out of treats before he finishes his sandwich, and then he’ll pick off little bits of egg or cheese and feed them to me.  (I also eat whatever drops.  Duh.)  I really like this routine.  I’m pretty sure Beagle Man does, too.

You’ll notice I get a lot more by-lines out here at the beach than I do back home.  Beagle Man says he’s working on his book.  Looks to me more like he’s working on his tan.