There's just something about that dog bed...

I'm not sure what it is, but there's something addictive about this ratty old pet bed.

Originally, the bed was purchased for our cat after he had a tough surgery. He used it for a few days, but once he had recouperated, he had no interest in having a pet bed.

Later, when Ragtime came to live with us, he fell in love with that same bed. He wouldn't sleep on any other pet bed that we found. In fact, he was terrified about the large pillowy bed that I bought for him.

A few months ago, a lost dog spent an afternoon at my house. He spent a few hours curled up in the same bed.

Now, Maggie can't resist curling up in it with her stuffed toys. Both dogs ignore the pretty new bed that I bought for Maggie the day we adopted her.

That faded blue bed is ugly, old, and out-of-shape. Now we need to try to find a second one so that both dogs can have one. Even if we find one, we have no way of knowing if either dog will like it because we aren't exactly sure what they like about it.

Bizarre.

The beagle survives her second hernia surgery

Maggie isn't very happy.

She just had her second hernia surgery. She just wants to be babied constantly. She's so pitiful.

To add a little sting to the wound, she will have to wear the lampshade for 2 more weeks.

The Sounds of the Cone

This photo, blurry and with crummy color, was taken at ankle level. Blind camera. Just before my ankles got whacked with that cone. That razor sharp circle of pain, a modern day Sputnik terrorizing bare skin, the cat, furniture and Ragtime. All at once.

But this Sputnik does not make a beep-beep-beep sound. No it's more shish-shish. That's the sound of Maggie scraping her colossal cone against the screen door. "Let me in." "Let me out." "Feed me." It means many things. One cannot ignore the shish-shish. The screen door dies just a bit more.

Ska-rip. That is the sound of her cone scraping against the kennel we must put her in during the day, whilst we are at work, or at night. Sad? Maybe. But we cannot leave her out. Disaster will ensue. She may be one. but Maggie clearly is a fan of those movies where the town drunk uses his cup to clang against the jail bars. Because that's what it sounds like. "Hey, sheriff. I'm OK now. Sober as a priest." Clang-clang. "Let me out." Ska-riiip.

Ca-ching. That's the sound of the register at the local paint store. After the cone comes off. Many walls must be repaired.

Dogs becoming friends

They still fight over toys, but it looks like Maggie and Ragtime are becoming pals. Now, if we could just get that lampshade off the beagle's head...

Playing together

This adoption hasn't exactly gone the way that we planned, but it has had some beautiful moments.

Today, I watched as Ragtime very carefully took his rope toy to the beagle and taught her to play tug-a-war. On one hand, I probably shouldn't allow them to play tug, but this may have been the sweetest and most gentle game of tug.

Raggy has also tried to teach her to play catch. Ever once in a while, he takes one of his toy balls up to Maggie and drops it softly to her feet. Then, he grins at her and waits.

So far, Maggie hasn't figured out that game, but I don't think Ragtime has given up on her yet.

Conehead

Look at that pitiful face. Look at it. This mug makes “Benji” as heart-warming as “Rosemary’s Baby.” It’s a postcard. It'd make Dick Cheney well up some tears.

Maggie, the new tornado of a beagle in our lives, now carries the burden of wearing a Cone of Shame. The wife calls it a lampshade. I can’t help but wonder if Maggie will pick up ESPN. There’s college games on, after all.

Why the cone? Maggie has just been spaded, and had a hernia operation as the cherry on top of the cake. And, get this, she has another surgery on the horizon. Another hernia surgery. (Vets caught the second problem too late for the first surgery.) She must think she’s being punished.

We think we’re being punished, too. Whether it’s the meds or lack of house-training, or whatever, Maggie has had three accidents in the house just this weekend. This despite our bringing her outside, and applauding her when she does her business where nature intended.

As well, every piece of valuable furniture in our home is covered in a protective barrier of either blankets or towels, or some combination thereof. They drape all over the place. The house is 2/3rds of the way to becoming Miss Havisham’s digs. We’d show pics, but we’re too ashamed.

Why the covers? That razor sharp plastic cone will dig paint off an aircraft carrier. And it’ll certainly peel off the finish on grandmom’s buffet. And grandmom got that buffet from her grand-somebody-another. The thing is old. Older than women’s suffrage. It can’t bear the brunt of a Cone of Shame. Nor can the walls. I see interior house painting in my future.

And our poor legs. That cone peels hair leg off in a single pass. Zlip! Bare skin. Maybe a layer or two off the top. A few weeks of this, and I can try out for Tim Curry’s role in a “Rocky Horror” remake. (The wife is none too pleased, either. Maggie follows her like white on rice.)

But our shame can’t equal Maggie’s. She walks around like Eyeore, bumming side to side. She tries and play with her squeaky toys, but there always just out of reach. Ragtime has no idea what to make of this cone.

It’s not all bad. Maggie just had a game of chase outside with Ragtime. She looked like heat-seeking backward missile locking its target.She ran hard, and caught herself on the ground a few times – that cone dips sharp and catches grass. Ouch. But she ran her heart out.

Maggie has 10 days more of this, until her stitches come out. And then after, with a second surgery, another two weeks of Cone of Shame. We’re dreading this. Another few weeks, and we’re adding strait jackets to the family mix. Two guess who’ll be wearing those. Strait jackets and head cones. We need a show on MTV.

Morning doggie chaos

By 7 a.m. this morning, I needed a Valium.

Here's what had happened:

1. We awoke to the crazed barking of a dog who was convinced a would-be thief was outside our house.

We got up and looked around, but we didn't see anyone. Ragtime doesn't normally do that in the middle of the night, however, so I'm suspicious that someone or something was outside.

If there was a thief, I have this to say to him or her: Dude, we have 2 dogs living in a small house. Does anything about that scenario suggest that this is a good home to rob? Do some research before you try to break into a house. Show some respect for your profession.

2. Maggie made a mad dash out the front door following whatever her nose told her to follow.

Black doggie + dark sky = bad, bad situation

We caught her, but I didn't have my contacts in yet and we were both wandering through our neighbors yards wearing our night clothes. Very classy.

3. The beagle nearly knocked out my front tooth for the second time as she headbutted me in mid-air.

How does she do that? I was standing up, she was on the floor and then boom! Suddenly she was headed for my mouth. How high can this dog jump?

4. The same adorable beagle nearly broke my big toe. I was quietly showering when a nearly full bottle of body wash slammed onto my unsuspecting foot, courtesy of a curious puppy.

Fortunately for me, the bottle fell on my right foot rather than the foot that already has a sprained ankle. I feel oddly well-balanced now that both feet are sore.

What a great start for a day!