A Beagle in the Hand is worth Two in the Bush

The song ‘Goober Peas’ inspired my new Beagle pup’s name. As the prize for bringing the most kids to Daily Vacation Bible School, his presence caused my Mother’s faith to suffer a temporary nosedive. How could God endorse the addition of yet another creature to our ever expanding menagerie?

Goober was a wandering fool. He was itching to explore all two hundred acres of the dairy farm adjacent to our house. Rather than stick close to home like a good country dog, this frisky little peanut would disappear for days. Neighbors warned us that the farmers would shoot him if he were caught chasing livestock, so we began chaining him in the front yard. The look of sorrow on his droopy puss was heart wrenching.

Winters in Upstate NY were snowy and frigid, and often the ground was white from October to April. High drifts allowed us to climb on the pantry roof and jump into their depths. Goober loved the snow and would romp and frolic with my gaggle of siblings and I. After the fun, and relegated back to his doghouse under the big oak tree, he would slump, head resting on his front paws and soft brown eyes radiating sadness.

One deeply cold and blustery day, my brothers and I hopped off the bus to find a broken chain and no Goober. Lovers of drama all, we immediately whipped into high gear. While we shrieked and clambered around the house donning snow gear, our Mom tried to make sense of the mayhem. Upon realizing our intent, she forbade us from going out on our rescue mission. There was no way she would allow us, at ages 6, 10, and 11, to head into the freezing woods at dusk.

We were determined. My brothers and I pretended that we agreed with her flawed logic as we walked outside with wide eyed innocence to play in the snow before dinner. As soon as my Mom’s head moved away from the kitchen window we “Sherlocked” out of there on the Trail of the Missing Beagle. The chain he was dragging made it easy to follow his path in the snow. Deeper and deeper into the woods we went with our contraband flashlights shining the way.

After about an hour the cold gripped us and my younger brother Danny began to cry, fearing we were lost. Frankie and I assured him through trembling lips that we knew exactly where we were. Another long, cold hour passed before we found a shivering Goober with his chain wrapped tightly around a tree. After doing a happy dance, we looked around with trepidation.

We tried to head back the way we came but the tracks had filled in and we quickly lost our way. It was thickly black and the temperature had dropped precipitously. Everyone was exhausted, including the dog. We struck out in a likely direction through the knee-deep snow; worrying about our plight in low voices. Goober pulled us along, the three of us clinging to the remnant of chain like a lifeline.

Struggling through underbrush and thick forest, over hill and dale, scared and freezing we went. Conversation dwindled as we focused on putting one foot in front of the other. We were goners for sure. Our parents were going to find three kidsicles and a dogsicle in the morning. Frankie’s bright idea was to make an igloo and huddle together for warmth. I wasn’t buying that real estate!

Upon cresting the hundredth hill, we set up a cheer and moved our numb feet in the direction of beckoning lights. It was our friend’s house! The door was quickly opened to our banging and Mrs. Thompson shepherded us into the glowing warmth. We stood dripping sheepishly in front of the fireplace as she rang our worried parents.

When Dad arrived, he hugged us with relief but lambasted us once we were safely in the car. At home, my mother hollered a blue streak while holding us tightly. Usually relegated to the kitchen , Goober curled up on my bed that night and we all enjoyed a sound sleep.

Just a few weeks later Goober made good with another escape but his luck had turned. Rural roads have notoriously fast drivers. It would seem that while cats have nine lives, Beagles get just one foul and then they’re out of the game.