I Thought He Said I Was Perfect

At 11 o’clock this morning, Beagle Man posted —and I quote — “He’s been an absolutely perfect and wonderful dog so far on this trip.”

That’s me he’s talking about, just so you know.  One hour later, he’s screaming his guts out at me.  Can I please tell my side of the story?  So we were playing fetch at a ball field in Windsor Heights, right near Des Moines.  Not all that exciting.  But I could sense something nearby, something I needed to get to.  And I made a run for it.  Sure, there was a highway nearby, but I’m not that dumb.  What I was heading for  was the river!  With cold, fast-moving water!  My favorite kind!  I ran down to it!  The ball I had in my mouth fell all the way down to the river, and I started after it . . . but my leash got stuck between two boulders!  That’s when Beagle Man caught up with me.  He was screaming at me!  He was furious!  He untangled my leash, but wouldn’t let me go run down through the rocks to the ball.  He just kept yelling at me:  “I’m so mad at you!  You can never, ever, ever run away like that!”  But I wasn’t running away.  I was running to the river.  And I

would have come right back.  Oh boy.  Tonight, in our room in North Platte, Nebraska, he pretty much ignored me.  He was fixated by these two people on TV — a blonde lady in a bright red suit, and some weirdo with creepy orange hair.  Beagle Man kept cursing, and calling the umpire guy — Lester, I think his name was — a wimp.  Now Beagle Man’s on his computer.  So I guess I’ll just call it a day.  Only I can’t snuggle into my doggy bed, because it’s not here.  Because Beagle Man left it back at the Best Western in Des Moines.  Not the best of days.  (Oh, and I also got one of those sticker thingees in my paw.)

Beagle Man and Ricky always have a lot to say, so I’ll just pipe up in The Duck Dog Speaks whenever I can.