Not long after Ricky the Beagle passed on, Beagle Man announced to Mom that he needed another dog.  “That’s fine,” Mom said, “as long as you understand one thing.  He’ll be your dog.  I won’t walk him.  I won’t wake up with him.  I won’t pick up his poop.  And I won’t play with him.”  I’m that dog.  And for my first three years or so, she stuck to that — absolutely.  During that time, to tell you the truth, I’d...

Beagle Man and I were down at Compo Beach yesterday — and boy, was it a beautiful morning!  (I hope you can make out the sun sparkling on the water in the photo, right.)  I dashed over toward the cannons, as I always do, and when I got there, this Me (on the right) with my little twin bro. lady started making a huge fuss over me.  Soon I realized why:  I looked exactly like her dog!  Same red color.  Same feathery tail.  Same white chest.  For a second I thought I was looking in a...

Beagle Man always pats me on the head and tells me I’m a “good, good boy” — but I suppose I could try to be even better . . . •  I will keep my paws off the kitchen counter, and stay away from Mom’s chicken quesadillas.  I’ll be happy with my same-old same-old kibble — jazzed up  with the occasional carrot or pretzel crumb. •  I will not bark like the world’s coming to an end every single time a “It’s pretty exciting when the Malone...

It’s an oft-told Herman family tale this time of year. Ricky on his Christmas morning mission . . . December 25, 2003 — Ricky the Beagle’s first Christmas.  Matt is 22.  Robby is 10.  (Greg is 19, but he’s not part of this story.  Sorry, Greg.)  Matt and Robby are locked in one of their weird competitions:  Whose gift will Ricky like better? Robby had gotten for Ricky a tiny white Dolphins #34 Ricky Williams jersey.  (Our dog was named for him.)  Matt had stashed...

You guys all know how I feel about Beagle Man.  I’d do anything with him, and I’d go anywhere with him.  (Even though he didn’t take me on the Epilogue Trip.)  But there’s one thing I have to say:  He’s a little bit strict and stingy when it comes to food.  He claims it’s for my health — I had a bad stomach when I could tell you who this is — but then I’d have to kill you I was a pup — but I get pretty much zero table food, unless you count...

He’s ba-a-a-ck!  That’s right, the Beagle Man has landed — right here in WePo after 21 days on the road.  Of course, first order of business was his mushy reunion with Kemba, who bowled B-Man over, slurped up his face, reached his paws onto Beagle Man’s shoulders in a doggy-style hug . . . yada-yada-yada.  Very touching. LA/XC-6: Greetings from WePo! Just before making it back home, the final stop on the road was with the Delaware in-laws, Lisa and Joe...

LA/XC-6: Greetings from Washington D.C.! Gained a co-pilot in Asheville: Carol.  Then lost one in Greensboro: Matt, who stayed down in North Carolina to celebrate Thanksgiving with his in-laws.  Matt put in two strong stints: one back at the beginning, on the Bourbon Trail and then up to Indianapolis; plus here on the southeastern swing, from Little Rock to Nashville to Asheville to Greensboro.  Much appreciated. We closed out our Greensboro visit with an absolutely miraculous 24...

LA/XC-6: Greetings from Greensboro! Beagle Man (on Friday’s afternoon’s drive along I-40 East with Matt, closing in on Asheville, NC):  Hey, since our dinner reservation isn’t till 8:30 tonight, I think I’ll use the downtime to do some catching up and to write a blog post. Matt:  Sounds good. The next moment, a text arrives for both Matt and Beagle Man from Patrick, Matt’s father-in-law, who had arrived in Asheville earlier in the day:  Am downstairs at...

I’ll never forget my dad’s first herniated disc. We were sitting in the bleachers at Compo watching Dad play softball, when the batter hit a pop-up just foul of third base. Hammerin’ Hank races in from left field and OWWWWWW! Life would never be the same.  Not really that bad, to be honest. Just inconvenient for him, and funny for the rest of us. He’d wear a back brace. Have Mom apply Ben-Gay. Make weird noises anytime he bent down. Aka-laka-laka-laka-laka. I remember specifically...

About a month ago, my mom was in the city for a meeting, or a haircut, or something like that. That evening, we had dinner together at Via Carota, my favorite Italian spot in the West Village. As we enjoyed the delicious Cacio e Pepe and Rigatoni Pomodoro, we talked about the basics: work, my new apartment, and how stunningly atrocious Sam Darnold is. Then out of nowhere, she dropped a bomb. Mom: “Dad’s back is so bad that the doctor won’t let him drive all the way cross country.”...