A short Beagle, she has created mayhem all her life. Carsick from a small puppy, Michael could not take her anywhere in a car without the inevitable spewing. She has Beagley altered more items than we have had hot dinners. She has been driven to the vet on the weekend, costing us an outrageous amount of money, eating over ripe cocos palm nuts that gave her gastritis. Her ears are a constant source of aggravation, both to her and to us. Her regular excavations under the fence allow dirt and other unspeakable material to invade her floppy ear canals, creating a perfect environment for infection.
Her stomach is her most extraordinary, outstandingly focused organ. Her nose has a direct connection to her gut, with a total brain bypass. Hence, she literally follows her nasal passages to the delectable reward, unheeded by any calls, whistles, claps,and entreaties from us. So, her weight continues to be a major problem.
Since Ryan's arrival at the House that Rocks, Ruby has regarded Muddy's dog kibble container as the Holy Grail. Evey hole Michael fills in under the fence or gate is only a minor irritation to her. Ruby's digging skills are legendary. She has emptied the kibble box on numerous occasions, with unfortunate consequences. Her girth is so wide that we have been unable to clip her winter coat around the abdominal vastness.And another issue has arisen for Her Royal Fatness. She is currently unable to jump.
Her solution to this problem has been to invade the bottom bunk of the other dogs. Regularly. Initially, our response was encouraging her to return to the upper bunk. This was tried by the strategic planting of cat biscuit on her bedding, poking her on the bum with our feet and or engaging in ridiculous facial and hand actions and loud praising to hoist her rotund body upwards into her own bed.
When all these methods had failed miserably, we were left with only one option. Lift the Beagle into her own bed. We knew she would probably stay once she was up as her favourite pastime is sleeping, closely followed by snoring, grunting and stretching. We took it in turns to launch Ruby into her bed. Ye Gods. She had assumed the weight that a sumo wrestler would envy.
So, we have borrowed a dog bed that is off the ground and easy to conquer. She has once again won the battle to bend us to her will. She and the cat are both correctly named Ruby. Faces like angels with the sneaky stealth of two dominatrices.
We are trying to walk her and the other dogs on a more frequent basis. She treats exercise with complete disdain. Whilst Sascha and Pip are outside, sniffing, playing, piddling and barking, Ruby far prefers a comfortable bed, some soothing peace and as little energy expending as possible. If we ever let her off the leash on one of our outings to the town oval, she has to be hurried along in order to get her heart rate above snooze level. This involves me trotting beside her, making "hup hup" noises to keep her relatively mobile. Her idea of a walk is to move as slowly as possible, sniffing and snorting at every whiff of interest as she meanders around. We truly feel that we are fighting a losing battle and she will end up the size of Miss Trunchbull from "Matilda".
Is anyone old enough to remember "Dr Strangelove"? Apart from being outrageously clever and satirical, there was a particular scene (I think at the end) of the madman riding the bomb as it fell towards earth. No disrespect intended, but the Beagle has become the shape of that podgy little doomsday machine. Without the doomsday part. Except when she releases an almost lethal dose of methane into our immediate environment.
In Ruby's slimmer days
She took eating very seriously from a young age
Ruby's favourite place
With "manky" ears, as described by the vet
Worshipping my beef pie
Really into the Christmas spirit
The fullish figure of Miss Trunchbull
Ruby's current shape (minus the tail and the cowboy)
and our ongoing quest to slim her down - Ruby's the dog on the lead!
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