Who Knows What Evil Lurks In The Hearts Of Beagles

Tank the Beavil.

That's my new name for our beagle. Because he is evil. I should have known when I found him on the porch that morning with the devil.

This afternoon, I tossed some old hot dog buns to the chickens. They're natural-born peckers, you know. Our custodian told me that. I think he and Farmer H are on the same wavelength. They've know each other for quite some time. Anyhoo, I broke the buns in small sections and flung them off the porch.

Farmer H's pets (and by that I mean his favorite animals), the goats, were busy eating my rose bushes. The buns caught their rectangular-pupiled amber eyes, and they charged in amongst the chickens for a snack. There was plenty to go around for our fowl and caprine friends. Then the big bad canine crashed the party.

Tank decided that he MUST have some delicious dry bread, the gourmet snack of beagles, apparently. He charged at Nellie, the long-haired white goat with a penchant for trapping her head in the fence. Tank was all snarly and lip-curled and vicious, so Nellie, head uncharacteristically unencumbered, turned tail and trotted for the goat pen. That was not good enough for the Tank the Beavil. He jumped up and sank his teeth into Nellie's left side, just behind her four-chambered stomach. Nellie hauled him along for a good 15 feet before he dropped off.

That darn Beavil needs a sound thrashing. Farmer H checked on Nellie, and thank the Gummi Mary, it looks as if Tank only gnashed his fangs on a mouthful of hair. I've told Farmer H all along that I think Tank is his chicken-killer, not Ann the shepherd. Ann ends up with the spoils because she is bigger, but she is not the leader.

Today's vocabulary lesson: the word capricious comes from the word caprine, and pertains to goat-like qualities.