Can Beagles Cause Blindness?
I know this is supposed to be a lifestyle column, but each week I seem to find out that one or more of the habits which makes my life liveable could also possibly kill me. Last week it was eating and drinking. I responded by cutting my booze consumption by 5/7ths (e.g. I only get tipsy on weekends), and that’s working out just fine. I don’t even miss it—though it might be the reason I’ve become so much more of a geek. As in, instead of sipping absinthe or quaffing beer, now I relax by playing Medieval Total War, an incredibly addicting strategy game which allows you, for instance, to play the Teutonic Knights and conquer Russia. So I did, on Monday. In reparation, I went out Tuesday and rented Eisenstein’s Alexander Nevsky (1938), which recounts how that heroic prince drove those dangerous monks out of Russia. An amazing work of art that got through Stalin’s suffocating censors because it glorified resistance to the Germans. Indeed, it eerily predicted just how brutal the new Teutonic invaders would prove when they marched in, just three years later—and how they would end up as frozen corpses in the snow.
My girlfriend summed up my shift in habits with her usual pith: “Great, you’ll drop a few pants sizes—by becoming a total dork-ass.” Cheap at the price.
To sum up this Dorkass’ Progress: Tonight I “ruled” the Duchy of Milan, and “fought” a successful crusade that freed the Holy Land. If only the chicken hawks running foreign policy for both political parties could be weaned off getting actual Americans killed, and instead be presented with really fun interactive games—where they could, for instance, nuke Iran over and over and over again, and watch the civilian body counts pile up…. Let’s pitch it as neocon methadone. Or Nicorette, to replace whatever those people have been smoking since 1989.
Of course, even a liquid diet also requires some exercise, so I’ve been getting out on longer walks with my beagles. What I did not know as I set out was the well-documented, if surprising, link between beagles and blindness.
Sure, they are merry, affectionate hounds. But beagles have been shaped through hundreds of years of rigorous breeding into a race of maniacs. Bred to live in kennels and chase rabbits through the fields until the little critters collapse, they make for… challenging urban pets. The first thing you’ll notice is the howling. I found it charming, and taught the beagle I raised from puppyhood, Susie, to do it on command. I just say “Sing,” and out comes this lovely alto note, sometimes with a hint of vibrato. It’s a good thing I no longer have upstairs neighbors.
Then there’s the tendency toward escapism. Franz-Josef (the male I adopted and gave the name I had been saving for a son…until my intended averred, “Do you want him to get the tar beat out of him on the playground every single day? Why don’t you just name him Sue?”) has managed to wiggle out of the front door, back door, yard fence—you name it—and gone off running on eight separate occasions. Once I was in my boxer shorts and flip-flops, and had to tear off after him through people’s backyards for almost two hours, until I was able to pounce and tackle the beast. (Good thing this happened in New Hampshire instead of Louisiana, where I would have been cheerfully shot.)
Finally, one is faced with the thrill of the chase. Franzi enjoys pursuing house cats, dragging me along behind as he snuffles for their scent, then bellows like an enraged elephant seal for some 15 minutes or so. Susie, on the other hand, is partial to squirrels, rollerbladers, and skateboarders—whom she sees as her natural enemies, and will pursue for blocks if you don’t stop her. The one time I wasn’t looking, and a blader whizzed silently by, she took him down like a deer.
It was the cold trail of a squirrel that led Susie and Franzi to drag me, at a fair clip, through a 20 yard stand of closely situated pine trees last week. Which seems like great fun at first—to someone who has never, well… gone running through a stand of pine trees. Or even walked through trees except on a path, such as the path that leads from the Metropolitan Museum on one side of Central Park to the Planetarium on the other.
Within a couple of minutes, we still hadn’t caught any squirrels, but I’d stumbled over an abandoned stove, twisted an ankle on an unseen rock, gotten the leash wrapped around half a dozen trees, and ended up with a sharp twig in the eye. For the first time in my life, I really did see stars. I let out a howl that was louder than anything my beagles could manage, as I cursed up and down the fact that these hazardous trees were left to grow unregulated. (In NYC we keep them closely contained in planters, exactly 15 feet apart.) I hobbled home to put my eye on ice.
After hearing a few bloodcurdling anecdotes about people neglecting eye injuries and going blind, I rushed to the ophthalmologist the next day. I’m all for International Talk Like a Pirate Day, but wearing an eyepatch year round is taking a good thing rather too far. The doc looked gravely at my eye, handed me antibiotic drops to be used every hour, and told me I’d gotten an epithelial tear on my cornea. Whatever that means. (I thought an “epithelia” was a wedding poem by Edmund Spenser, which just goes to show you how much I know about country living.) The upshot was that it very well could have gotten infected, I could have lost sight in one eye, and I’m investing in a pair of beagle goggles before I next go tromping through these dangerously laissez-faire trees.
Comments
http://www.rentafox.com for your beagle’s workouts. ( preceeding is a joke masquarading as an urgent but as yet unmet profit opportunity/social need)
Click to flag this comment as abusive
With all the serious pontificating about race and the nature of true conservatism around here lately I have come to see your columns as a breath of fresh air. It’s nice to smile first thing in the morning. Thank you.
Click to flag this comment as abusive
The First Time
The first time my Dad let me hunt his pack of foxhounds I learned a few lessons.
React to your instinct because inaction can lead to events that can spiral out of
Control. Back in 1980 I was 20 years old. Having hunted beagles as a kid I thought
I was ready to hunt the pack, 40 foxhounds.( My dad had to make a presentation to
The Pa. Game Commision therefore would not be able to hunt the pack that Sunday .
The prior Month we had 10 hounds caught in traps and found another 20 traps. We found them in a 10 acre block on one hunt. We thought Trapping was a little out of control,. Fur prices were in its heyday. The Game commissioners had a little surprise when he dropped a garbage bag full of traps on the floor, anyway that is a little off topic). The morning of the hunt my Dad said
Watch out for 3 or 4 young dogs. The prior hunt they had pulled down an injured deer.
So Sunday morning I took the hounds up into the hill. They found a fox and ran him
Along the ridge crossing a blacktop road. Further down ridge I noticed the cry of
Pack started to decrease. At the end of the ridge there was a strand of round wire
That blocked us from accessing the next hard road. (Horseback) We found a stick to prop the wire up and galloped down to the road. I looked up the road to my left and saw an
Angry landowner and the pack racing away parallel with the road at top speed. He yelled the hounds were on deer. I told him they couldn’t be, this pack was deerbroken. As I galloped up the road
A little voice of doubt started to whisper in my ear. Hounds were just crossing this road
As I got there. Only 3 hounds were tonguing the rest were “observers”. At that point
There was an impassable swamp and then the PA turnpike. On the map it is between
The Downingtown and Morgantown exchanges. The hounds swung to the left. I thought
Maybe if I am lucky I can catch them crossing the powerline 2 miles down the road. I
Galloped for all I was worth. I could barely hear them but I knew they were going to cross the powerline. Down the powerline I went however I was too late. They crossed.
At that point the hounds swung directly towards the turnpike. I galloped down to where
The powerline and turnpike met. I looked down the turnpike only to see the deer crossing
With 40 hounds only 10 feet behind the deer. I jumped off my horse and handed it to the guy with me.
I ran down crossing the turnpike with my .22 in hand. Traffic on this 4 lane highway is nonstop.
When I reached the hounds up on the bank they had the deer pinned up against the fence, biting away.
I fired the 22 (birdshot) into the pack 4 or 5 times. The hounds started to scatter but I was able to corral them so they wouldn’t cross back over the highway. The deer got up and went Down the fence line and then crawled under a gap. At that moment I realized I needed to get hounds out of this predicament. I thought the best thing to do was stop traffic and recross, because I wasn’t sure if any back hounds would come. I started to wave my arms for traffic to stop but every time the car slowed down, the instant they saw the gun in my hand they sped up with wild looks in their eyes. They thought I was Patton without the medals. I decided to throw the gun back across the highway. Hounds were still sitting on the bank . I started waving my arms again and this beautiful longhaired blonde stops her car and gets out. No problem, everybody stops, both lanes. I called the hounds to come on, retrieved the gun just as the state policeman was pulling up. He made sure the blonde was ok, and trotted off with the pack It was a miracle that not one hound was lost. It was a lesson I will never forget.
Click to flag this comment as abusive
The beagles sound lovely… tu promessa, not so sure.
... she knows that there’s a multi-player option on Total War, no?
Click to flag this comment as abusive
Nah, she’s wonderful. She just has a sharp sense of the absurd--which explains her affection for me. And for the beagles!
Click to flag this comment as abusive
John,
Good to see you’re walking the dogs more. Dogs are one of God’s best gifts to man, and walking a dog is a delightful form of exercise, and far preferable to the various forms of self-torture recommended by other readers.
Click to flag this comment as abusive
Medieval 2 has nice graphics, but Medieval 1 had better atmosphere. I used to love conquering the map as Spain and getting the raspy English-voice victory monologue telling me I’d “Brought All Lands Under The One True God”.
Tell me, is it just me that can’t bear to play any of the Muslim factions? Most of the time I play Byzantium, seeking to change history…
Click to flag this comment as abusive
@Simon:
So far I have beaten M2TW as the Moors, The Turks and the Egyptians.
Working now on a game as the Russians, having destroyed eliminated the Danes, next step is Scotland, Ireland, Wales and England.
The west shall be RED from the far shores of Ireland to the Caspian Sea.
If you play as the Moors, let me say one word --- Timbucktu.
Click to flag this comment as abusive
John:
Turned based games are for sissies. If you really aspire to high dork geekdom, you must play Paradox Interactive’s [http://www.paradoxplaza.com/] games.
My two favorites are their age of exploration game Europa Universalis III, and their WWII masterpiece Hearts of Iron II: Armageddon.
They also put out
Crusader Kings Deus Vult, which I shamed facedly admit to never having yet palyed, but based on their other stuff, and the name of the game (quel nom, ay?) has simply got to kick a**.
Real Time’s where it’s at, man! Check them out, you’ll never play Total War again.
Deus Vult!
Click to flag this comment as abusive
I loved reading this, and TAs response “The First Time”. I’ve spent some of the best
hours of my life out on the State Gamelands and fields in Pennsylvania with dogs.
Right now I’m just a ‘social member’ of the local beagle club, which sponsors AHBA
(American Hunting Basset Association) hunts on their grounds. Paul and I let our basset Murray
run in a ‘fun hunt’ last fall, but 65 pound Murray wasn’t really interested in chasing rabbits
and ended up crawling into my lap at the club house much to the hilarity of the Old
Timers.
Click to flag this comment as abusive
Post a Comment
By submitting this form, you give Taki's Magazine permission to publish this comment. Comments will be published at our discretion, and may be edited for clarity and length. Personal attacks, ethnic slurs, the riding of hobby horses and the beating of dead ones will be deleted as soon as they are detected by our small but alert staff. Repeat abusers of this policy will be barred from leaving comments. All comments reflect only the views of those posting them and not necessarily those of this website, its editors, or authors. For best formatting, please limit your response to one paragraph and don't hit "enter" to force line breaks.
Commenting is not available in this section entry.