Once Upon a Time, In a Land Far, Far Away

When I was a young girl growing up in Maine, I rode my bicycle everywhere.  To go to my friend’s house required me to ride past a house where a beagle lived.  This beagle, like all other dogs living in a small town in the 60’s, had no fences, no leash, no owner on hand to be held accountable in the event of trouble.  And this beagle was trouble.

True to his territorial and prey drive nature, anyone who dared bicycle past his house received his come-uppance – a mad dash straight for your ankles, teeth bared to a drooling drip.  He scared me very much.  I didn’t know which I feared more, his frightening approach or the likelihood that one of these days I was going to take a header on my bike in an effort to steer clear of him.

Every time I went past his house it was the same and every time I found myself thinking, “This has to stop!”  I would wonder why he was that way, it went against the nature of all the other dogs in my life and I couldn’t understand what drove him to such extremes.  All I knew was that if the routine was going to change, I was going to have to be the one to change it.

One day when Beagle came charging toward me I stopped my bike and spoke to him.

“Hello, Beagle.”

Had he been a car the air would have been filled with the sound of rubber screeching he came to such an abrupt halt.  This was not how it was supposed to go.  I was supposed to scurry along, re-enforcing his abilities to guard and protect.  What did happen was that he tucked tail, lowered his head and slunk away. 

That made me even more upset than being charged at, I was every animal’s best friend.  For me, being feared was to not be known, understood and loved.  What I didn’t know then but know now is that it was Beagle who was not known, understood and loved.  He was sharing with me but could only give me what he knew - a distrust of humans.

After that, every time I rode past his house he would come charging out and I would stop, letting my feet go to the ground and I would say, “Hello Beagle.”  And every time he would tuck his tail and turn away.  As time passed, the tucking and turning away lessened. 

I always made a point to not look directly at him and would speak to him in a loving, you are my absolute best friend and I am so glad to see you voice.  I was using calming signals, the most common of dog communications but I did not know that.  I was just going on instinct, calling up the knowledge that all of my animal friends had taught me.

I took to lying on my back on the ground of his front lawn and I would reach my arm up past my head to full extension and let it just lie there.  Oh and look at that, a little piece of cheese was in my hand.  But there was no talking and there was no attempt to touch, I just lay there.

I would wait maybe five minutes and if Beagle did not come for the cheese I would sit up, eat it, get up and get back on my bicycle.

“’Bye Beagle!  See you tomorrow!” I would call out as I rode away.

One day as I knew he would, I mean, he is a beagle for heaven’s sake, he took the cheese.  “Good boy!” I said softly.  “You are such a good boy!”  And I got on my bike and rode away.  “’Bye Beagle!  See you tomorrow!”

It wasn’t long after that before Beagle was eagerly anticipating my drive-bys and we would spend five to ten minutes together snuggling.  I would scratch him, tell stories and sing songs.  Occasionally I might have a piece of cheese for him but not usually.  It wasn’t about the cheese and anyway, it’s hard to ride a bike and hold cheese at the same time. 

“You are such a good boy, Beagle.”

“’Bye Beagle, I love you.  See you tomorrow.”