To Bark, Or Not To Bark.

The cocker spaniel is a barker. She barks when she thinks it’s time to get fed, she barks when someone is at the door, and she barks incessantly if the beagle is doing something wrong. It’s a quick quick come and look at this, look at what she’s doing now kind of bark.

Bark bark, look the beagle’s trying to get the food out of the bin.

Bark bark, look the beagle’s digging a hole.

Bark bark, look the beagle’s on top of the kitchen table eating the birthday cake, again.

Bark bark, look the beagle’s inside of the refrigerator eating straight from the butter container, again.

Recently, late at night when the children were in bed and G and I were halfway through a bottle of wine and a movie, G made his way into the kitchen for a chocolate run.

“Holy shi…” he sounded like he’d discovered a corpse.

And he had.

There in the kitchen was the beagle, proudly displaying a massive, dead pigeon.

The cocker spaniel hadn’t said a word, all she had for us was a look. A look that said that beagle is a psycho and I don’t want anything to do with it.

“Why didn’t she bark?” I couldn’t work it out, she took such delight in being a dobber, I thought she would have reveled in the moment.

“Because she’s realized she’s sleeping next to a killer” G said as he bagged the corpse.

Over the weekend G walked into the kitchen once again and found the cocker spaniel on her own with the same look on her face.

“Where’s the beagle?” he called out.

“Isn’t she in the kitchen? Why?”

“The cocker spaniel has that look on her face – something’s up.”

We cordoned off the area and began to search the house. It was mid search when I remembered the second traveller had proudly displayed the remains of her Halloween treats in our room while I’d showered earlier.

“Upstairs!”

She was standing on the bed with a chupa chup lollipop in her mouth when I pushed open the door. Toffee was stuck to her nose and empty kit kat wrappers lay at her feet. My pillow was stained with a mixture of beagle juice and gummy bears, sticky bits of mottled beagle hair clung to the quilt.

“OUT!” I yelled as she raced past me with a tootsie roll in her mouth.

The cocker spaniel didn’t say a word, she let out a sigh, put her head back down on her bed. I don’t want anything to do with it.

Sometimes, I guess, it’s just easier not to bark.

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