Exhibit F may well be the final straw.

Late afternoon. The midday burning sun has given way to a glorious orange glow; everything looks like it's been dipped in nectar. Warmth coils around bare skin. The heat so comforting it hums. A group of men have escaped the clutches of their employment for the day and are relishing a game of football. Friendly jeers. Squinting eyes in the light. Scissor kicks of limbs. The dull thudding of the ball.

The ball.

Beyond the scene, beyond the goal posts and between some trees in the near distance stands the stout figure of a young beagle by the name of Monty. A four-legged ball bandit. His head follows the movement. His eyes reflect the ball. No sound can distract him from the plump leather delight he has in sight. Ball. Ball. Ball.

Within seconds he's in amongst the throng of men; lolloping over with his cutest uncoordinated lollop. They pause to admire the plucky young pup who's joined their numbers. He spins. He leaps. He even throws in a few tail-chasing antics to delight them but little do they realise, as they grin and coo, that he snakes ever closer to the now stationary globe. The glorious orb.

Then he has it. He's off. Holding his prize aloft with pride. Zig-zagging victoriously with a jaunty, frankly arrogant, run.

I chase. I lunge. I dart. I try to bribe with meatish treats.

He darts. He twists. He turns. He even seems to grin despite his anaconda-like grip on the ball.

TWENTY MINUTES I spent chasing that dog. The manners and chivalry of the men was starting to ebb when the sight of another dog at the other end of the field finally encouraged him to relinquish the stolen property which was by then convincingly punctured. Whilst he sped off to antagonise the poor unsuspecting Labrador, I was left to blushingly apologise and then give chase once more, lead and poop bags in my flailing arms over to the next exciting episode.

I think it is well and truly game, set and match. I give in. You win Monty.

Slight hiatus in beagle-related drama this week and the main reason for this is that we've had a visitor staying with us this week in the shape of a female Springer Spaniel with the energy of a tightly coiled spring. I'm assuming there's a reason for the name of the breed. Monty's daily snoozing pattern has been completely wrecked. By the end of the week he was looking at us with pleading, slightly reddened eyes, "please take the jumpy dog away!" We were a little concerned (slightly ignorantly) that there'd be some romance whilst we were out of the house but thankfully there was nothing to fear. In my mind, it would be a pretty fearsome looking equation:

Lady spaniel + Monty Beagle = Speagles: energetic AND disobedient; essentially forging a new nightmare breed that would speed up the takeover of the world by cutting down on loss of planning through extensive snoozing.

They must not work this out. It got me thinking about other hypothetical combinations and their characteristics.

Meanwhile Monty has been having a hoot of a time with his new friend. All has been fairly quiet on his ambitious bid to eclipse the human race. She seems to have distracted and exhausted him. In fact, I suspect since I caught him dressing up in his majestic garb, that he has decided to opt for a new tactic: breaking me down systematically through bouts of high level embarrassment. So Exhibit E takes the form of anecdotal evidence. When you read the details, you'll be relieved that that there is no photographic evidence in this instance.

A stroll through a nearby market town with the beagle. A fairly ordinary occurrence. We live in a rural location. The town is small and leafy and surrounded by parks. We started in one of these parks so that Monty would have a chance to relieve himself before we took to the pavement. He happily obliged and we trotted off to pick up one or two things in the town. This was only ever going to consume a small amount of time. But the beagle had an idea.

There's a stretch of road with the some of the slowest and most frustrating traffic lights regulating it. The lights seem to only change weekly and results in an almost permanent line of cars bumper-to bumper along the road. A lot of bored eyes. So imagine how pleased they'd be to have their frustration momentarily alleviated by the sight of a bouncy beagle lolloping down the pavement. Monty scanned the area and realised quickly that all eyes were on him and that 'mummy' was busy carrying a number of items so this was as perfect an opportunity as he was going to get to initiate operation Humiliate: a systematic war of attrition on the dignity and composure of the humans. It's a new and frighteningly effective approach.

Stage one was to weave frantically through my legs causing much amusement I'm sure to the static cars. Almost simultaneously, stage two was to launch into squatting position and start immediate and enthusiastic defecation. With a lead wrapped around my wrist and arms full, I began to scrabble around my person for poopy bags. Not easy. If this wasn't face-flushingly embarrassing enough, he decided to waddle over to the edge of the pavement and turn around to give the line of close traffic a front row view. Forgive the slightly crude subject here but it has to be said he's small dog and must have been storing up every morsel of food for his dirty debut. It was a profoundly prolific portion of poop.

After managing to tidy up after him (I always detect a hint of satisfaction from him during this. If he could laugh, I really think it would sound exactly like Mutley from the good old 'Wacky Races' fame) I scuttled off in a zig-zagging fashion with Monty playing the fun game of trying to dislocate my shoulder pulling and straining on the lead with quick and unpredictable changes of direction. He can walk well on the lead but chooses when to. Meanwhile I was just concentrating on avoiding the looks of the seated audience.

A few days later, I was greeted by a colleague of my husband. The conversation started with, "I saw you walking with your dog, I was stuck in that traffic....."

There was a distinct sound of wheezy laughter....

Exhibit D: suggest you read first and then have a looksy at the picture inserted.

Having started documenting Monty (and therefore all beagles) more and more has become apparent that I may not have noticed otherwise. Already since the pillow-destroying incident he has betrayed his inner ambition most blatantly. Picture the scene, you return home after being out for no more than an hour to a snoozing beagle on your sofa (as already discussed, this has now become normal/ impossible to change).

Note: he had already chewed a hole through the centre of a blanket I'd given him and I scratched this up to general beagle destructive behaviour. Although interestingly he managed, again, to do this without me or the hubby noticing as if he was slyly picking one thread at a time, pinging them between his teeth with one eye on the door for either of us. If our shadows darkened the door he'd scoop up the blanket with his front paws until the coast was clear to continue. It's like a scene from The Shawshank Redemption, or Pawshank Redemption (apologies).

On entering the room, he slunk off the sofa only to reveal he'd 'slipped' his head through the hole and was effectively wearing the blanket like a royal gown. EXHIBIT D below of the Regal Beagle. There can be no clearer evidence of his practising his desired future role: King of the World. See how he nonchalantly sits in his robe peering off his left as if nothing is happening. Will keep an eye on other household items. One day I fear to return to the beagle sitting on top the sofa with a lampshade-styled crown. Since this incident late last evening, I've noticed a (very typical) condescending look in his eyes. It's the look of superiority and contempt but something more...he knows I'm on to him!

Then there's the opposing argument that beagles are in fact a little dim after all as this particular photograph would suggest.



The heart is in it, the brain is not. Particularly like the non-plussed look of the cat who is peering down with haughty sympathy. 'You poor, poor simple being. Go chase a stick.'

The case continues

Exhitbit B takes the form of photographic evidence. Taken this morning, the innocent looking beagle poses in front of the back door. Through this aperture, the remnants of a pillow can be seen. The pillow has clearly been savaged and its innards strewn about the garden in what I don't doubt was a mad, dizzyingly fun escapade. The interesting point is that it was carried out with such stealth and cunning that it went totally undetected. Notice the beagle holding his gaze with the camera as if completely unaware of the carnage behind him. 'Me? No, no... there are some particularly vicious birds out this morning. I wouldn't be hanging out any washing if I were you. Those birds. Tut. While we're on the subject, I think I saw a few fly into your sock drawer should you notice anything untoward a little later on....'

Exhibit C is the mid-woof picture. A lapse on Monty's part there I think. Usually he poses for the camera in cute head-tilts so that anyone glancing through pictures of his Montiness would assume he is the epitome of calm and canine delight. Rare documentation of the noisy truth! The case continues...

Exhibit A

There is no doubt that my Monty has a complete and in-depth understanding of the human psyche and has figured out my husband and I now to the core. Fundamentally he's worked out that I'm the weak one who will cave under the smallest tilt of his head and give him the biscuit. He is only a year old and up to now has been 'talking back' and when called after walking, only runs back to the general vicinity so he can continue to squirt out of our grasp after every futile lunge (can look very stupid but again, after a mere few months of beagle ownership, any self-consciousness in public places evaporates and gives way to PDFs: Public Displays of Frustration').

These I assumed, having a realistic knowledge of the 'traits' of the breed, were normal characteristics. I also thought (possible controversy here!) that beagles aren't the most intelligent breed around. I was wrong. Monty has single-pawedly managed to manipulate both of us. The evidence is still in its infancy and I will continue to document it as it unfolds on here when possible.

To start: Exhibit A: the first months of having Monty was a period of deciding that beagles are not allowed on any human seating surfaces. Absolutely not. Must stay consistent and persistent on this...boundaries. He has however managed to progressively break every little boundary to the point where we were cornered into the absolute, resolute, final decision that ok, sofas are ok, seats are ok, er alright upstairs is ok, really? The same seat as me while I'm on it? Ok... but the BED? No way! That is a definite beagle- free zone.

As I type, the beeg is snuggled up (with what I think is a wry smile around his lips) atop our one sanctuary, that bed, and in that obliterates any sense of boundaries we thought we could adhere to. To make matters worse, his innate sense has told him that the best place, the holy grail of cosiness, the ultimate coup of comfort would be...to get under the duvet! I know he's been planning his mode of attack for some time. I could see it in his misleadingly blank expression. The minute hubby was out the bed and off to shower, the beagle launched his first assault having diagnosed my breaking point when it comes to him as that of a wet Kit Kat. Daddy was out the way. He leapt onto the bed and engaged in what can only be likened to a couple of stags fighting in headlock. He very literally tried to head butt me out of the way to get to the cocoon of quilty goodness. He failed on this attempt. But he didn't like it and grumbled out the room.

I know he's waiting to launch a second wave. Even now I know he's not really sleeping. He's planning. Beagles can manipulate. Be careful.