THE COST OF A BEAGLE

 Aileen Mitchell Lawrimore

2007

 

            “Come home now!” My husband, never one to waste words, sounded frantic. “The dog fell down the stairs. He can’t walk. Come home. Now.”

            When I arrived, our children met me at the door.

            “Charlie was running up the stairs and he slipped,” my youngest daughter, sobbing, explained. “He rolled fast down those hard steps. And then he couldn’t walk, Mama, he couldn’t even walk. Will he be okay, Mama?”

            Charlie was only three years old. Surely he would be okay. I’d fought too hard to get him in the first place.

            “Dogs are so much trouble.” My husband Jay had tried to dissuade me with his logical arguments. “And expensive. You don’t realize how expensive dogs are.”

            “And you don’t realize what a blessing they are.” I was tired of Mr. Practical’s viewpoint. “Besides, they’re cheaper than motorcycles.”

            Jay had purchased his new toy—a bright red motorcycle—a few weeks earlier and I was not pleased. I saw it as a dangerous new hobby and a waste of money.

            “I don’t know about that.” Jay turned his back to the conversation adding, “My motorcycle won’t chew on furniture.”

            “Well,” I huffed, “My dog won’t leak oil in the garage.” I realized my argument was weak. I changed tactics. “Anyway, you love dogs.”

            “I love dogs that don’t come with veterinary bills and food costs. Anyway, you haven’t found a dog you like.”

             “But what if I do find a dog?”

            “Oh, I don’t know.” Jay sighed.  “Why don’t you look at beagles? I’ve always liked beagles.”

            A few days later, I visited a breeder who had a three-month-old beagle for sale. The puppy played outside, dashing back and forth, pouncing on unsuspecting blades of grass. Victorious, he’d release the puppy version of a beagle’s trademark howl. Charmed, I knelt to scoop him up, knowing he was mine.  But would Jay feel the same?

            Jay was in the kitchen, getting ready for supper. The kids rushed up the stairs.        “We’ve got a surprise!”

            Jay turned, “What kind of surpr. . . . OHHH!”

            We surprised him alright.

            “You said you liked beagles.” I put Charlie down and watched him wag his way to Jay.

            Jay eyed him, a smile sneaking up from the corners of his mouth. “Well, it’s a good thing he’s so cute,” Jay said, reaching to pick up the puppy for a quick cuddle.

            Jay was right about the cute factor. Charlie’s tri-color markings, droopy ears, and big brown eyes made him downright adorable. Jay was right about something else:  puppies are a lot of trouble. They’re expensive, messy, demanding, and they chew on furniture. Plus they leak—and not just in the garage.

            Jay and I had long conversations (and short snippy ones too) about the value of my beagle.

            “How many pens and pencils can that dog chew up in a day?” Jay asked, noting the cache of discarded writing utensils in the trash.

            “I suppose that would depend on the day,” I quipped. “However, a bag of pens costs a lot less than a motorcycle helmet.”

            Soon, though, Charlie grew out of his troublesome tendencies and settled into a routine. He found the best place to be during a meal was under the table. Every afternoon around two o’clock, he would ring the strap of bells on our door—time to meet the school bus. And when the end of the day brought Daddy home, Charlie released a special howl just for Jay, the undisputed top-dog. We called this exchange Charlie’s Daily Report.

            “Well, hello there, Charlie. Have you had a good day?” Jay asked, laying laptop and lunchbox aside to give the beagle a good rub-down. Charlie, still belting out that odd howl, completed his report. “You ran off the bad guys, did you boy? Good job.”          Whether he wanted to or not, Jay was starting to fall for my little beagle. Watching their relationship bloom, I saw a different side to Mr. Practical. Our busy lifestyle—with careers and kids to manage—had faded my awareness of Jay’s softer side. Charlie sharpened my focus. Through my beagle’s eyes, I saw my husband more clearly.  Also, Charlie demonstrated real, true love. Charlie loved Jay completely. If Jay hurt his feelings, Charlie forgave him. And even though he barked like a crazy dog when Jay wheeled his motorcycle into the driveway, Charlie didn’t let a vehicle stand between him and his man for long. Charlie wasn’t capable of keeping a record of wrongs, and his love for Jay never failed.

            Then the accident happened.

            “Charlie has a back injury causing some paralysis.” The vet explained, adding that a round of steroids and a night of rest might resolve the problem.  “We’d like to keep him here overnight; we’ll call you first thing tomorrow.”

            Around eight o’clock the next morning, the phone rang.

            “The steroids didn’t work. Now we have an emergency. We think Charlie has a ruptured disc that needs repair. The surgeons at Upstate Veterinary Specialists can do the procedure as soon as you get him there. The drive will take about an hour and a half.”

            “What if he doesn’t have the surgery?”                                                                     

            “Then he will probably never walk again.”

            “So this surgery—how much does it cost?” I hated to put a price on my beagle’s life, but I needed to know. She told me. The amount was staggering.

            “I’ll have to call my husband.”

            I reached Jay, gave him the latest information, and we agreed to meet at the clinic. When we arrived, the vet gave us more details about Charlie’s condition.

            “In beagles, these discs can rupture at any time,” she said. “Often you have no warning.” Charlie’s must have ruptured as he climbed the stairs, causing his fall.

            Jay listened, his arms folded, his brow furrowed. “Can we see the dog?” His tone sounded flat and clinical.

            “Of course,” the doctor said. “Come on back.” We followed her to Charlie’s crate. “Here he is,” she said, stepping aside.

            “Well, hello there, Charlie,” Jay greeted our beagle with the familiar phrase, his voice not nearly so level as it had been just moments ago.

            Charlie looked straight at Jay. No daily report. No special howl. Yet despite his limp hindquarters, our beagle tried to reach the man he trusted most. Leaning toward the door of his crate, he attempted futile steps with his forelegs. Heavily medicated, Charlie seemed confused when his efforts failed. He turned sad eyes to me, then back to Jay.

            “Let’s get him in the car,” Jay cleared his throat and said to the vet. “I’ll need directions to the hospital.”

            I looked up at my husband, my ever-practical husband. “Thank you,” I whispered. He wrapped his arms around me, assuring me, “We’ll get him the help he needs. He’s going to be okay,” and then to Charlie, “Right buddy? It’s all going to be okay.”  

            Less than a week later, we brought Charlie home from the hospital. The surgeons told us the operation had been a success and that Charlie should regain full mobility. Still, I wondered if this accident had changed our beagle’s personality: he seemed so frail, so listless.

            Then the day after Charlie came home, we were outside when Jay’s car rounded the corner. Charlie perked up, focusing on the approaching vehicle. As Jay turned into the driveway, Charlie rose on his front paws and began to howl. Jay strode over as Charlie launched into his daily report.

            “Well, hello there, Charlie. It sounds like you’ve had a busy day.” Jay, grinning, tickled Charlie behind the ears. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

            Watching my husband love my dog, I had to admit—he was right when he said dogs are expensive. In fact, I’d say they’re priceless.