My Breed Made Me Do It

Beagle Man couldn’t believe his eyes and ears:  He’d found a dog more hyperactive than Kemba!  This happened on a visit he and the Missus made to their friend Susan in Cali last month, at her

ranch in Santa Ynez.  (I’ve been to California three times, though, never to Susan and Rick’s Buckeye Ranch.  Kemba, of course, has already been there.)  And there was the B-Man saying, over and over, Ohmygod, Emmett never stops!  And I’m thinking, well duh.  Emmett’s a Bearded Collie, for God’s sake.  That’s a working dog.  A herding dog.  When B-Man, the Missus, and Susan jump on the ATV for a look at the new house

under construction, of course Emmett’s gonna scurry ahead, leading the way.  When Susan gives the B-Man a mini horseback riding lesson, of course Emmett’s gonna be all but under Tut’s hooves, showing him exactly which way to go, and exactly how fast.  When the three humans sit down on the porch in front of the barn for a sunset glass of wine?  Of course Emmett’s gonna be there, barking bossily, trying to nudge them toward their next activity.  It’s in his breed.  We all gotta do what we gotta do.  Look at Kemba.  He was bred to retrieve ducks.  Beagle Man’s not a hunter, so what does the K-Dawg do?  He fetches tennis balls.  Endlessly.  Ruckus is mostly Pit Bull — excuse me — Staffordshire Terrier.  So he chases squirrels and chipmunks.  He can’t help it.  And me?  I’m a Beagle.  So I eat.

The Roof Rack Report used to appear regularly on Mondays. Now it appears once in a blue moon, when Beagle Man deigns to give me some space . . .