Big Bro, Little Bro

Kemba and Ruckus spent the long Memorial Day weekend together at the beach in

Montauk.  The Tuesday after, our daughter-in-law Kelly told us, Ruckus refused to go to Biscuits & Bath, the doggy daycare center which was, heretofore, his favorite place on the planet.  For the rest of the week, Greg added, he had to carry Ruckus to “school.”

That same Tuesday, back in CT, when I grabbed Kemba’s leash from the hook in the mudroom and said, “Come on, Handsome, let’s go,” he just looked at me.  Didn’t jump up, tail wagging, with his perpetual “Great idea, Beagle Man!” expression.

Clearly, they were both going through symptoms of withdrawal.  From each other.

I’m afraid this past weekend Carol and I only compounded the problem.  With Greg and Kelly heading off to Cali, we told them we’d be glad to take Ruckus out for another beach weekend.  While they jumped at the offer, it was clear that both of them — first-time doggy parents — had some concerns about their baby.

For one thing, they like to make sure their little Ruckster has his quiet time.  (They

think I let Kemba and Ruckus wrestle too much.)  They’re fastidious about clipping his harness on when they walk him, and taking it off when they get back.  (When I texted Greg this photo, left, he wrote back: “You can take his red harness off.  We only use that for walks.”)  They warned us that, unlike Kemba — and Ricky before him —Ruckus generally doesn’t eat his meals at one sitting.  They worried he’d be homesick during the night.  (Greg’s last text to me before boarding the plane to L.A.:  “You’ll sleep with our boy, right?”)

Turns out they didn’t have to worry:  Kemba all but said, “I’ve got this.”  Whatever Ruckus needed to know, Kemba taught him.  Though we’ve been referring to Rucky as our “granddog,” and Kemba as his “uncle,” big bro and little bro would be a lot more like it.  Ruckus looks to Kemba, head tilted, to see how we do things.  Kemba looks back at Ruckus patiently, head also tilted, until Ruckus gets it right.  (Uncannily, they have exactly the same endearing head tilt when they’re listening.)  The first night, when the four of us (two humans, two dogs) retired to our bedroom, Ruckus jumped up onto our bed.  We gave him an emphatic “No!”  Ruckus wasn’t quite ready to concede until he saw Kemba down on the floor in a doggy bed.  Next instant, he leaped to the floor and snuggled into his own doggy bed right alongside big bro.

Kemba and Ruckus did everything together.  Similtaneous mad dashes to the beach when I unlatched the gates.  Chasing the same ball in never-ending games of fetch along the ocean.  (Had to go to a two-ball strategy, since Ruckus isn’t big into letting go of the ball once he gets it.)  Side-by-side walks around the ‘hood in the late afternoon, two leashes in my left hand, a beer in my right.  (Five o’clock somewhere.)  Synchronized peeing.  Synchronized pooping.

Last night we delivered Ruckus, all in one piece, back to his parents.  And this morning, sure enough, Kemba was mopey.  We checked in with Kelly to see if Ruckus had refused to go to school again.  “Had to trick him,” she texted back, “but he made it.”

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, TWITTER, AND INSTAGRAM.