Report to the Agency:

      I recently heard from my uncle Duke who is a former navy dog currently retired to a very charming farm in Louisiana. He has been reading some of my messages to The Agency, and he wanted to point out that my family background is more catahoula hound than beagle. I must confess that it came as a surprise to me that I had ANY catahoula hound in my genetic makeup at all! In fact, I had never heard of catahoula hounds until Duke mentioned it and sent along a couple of pictures. If, however, he is right – and I suspect he is – the catahoula part of me would certainly explain my extraordinary intelligence, good looks and modesty. To paraphrase what one of the web sites about catahoulas mentions, we are almost prescient in our ability to read people’s emotions, anticipate their intentions, and plan a decent menu. Also known as leopard hounds because of our attractive spots – of which I have depressingly few – catahoula hounds are extraordinary in their ability to climb trees in the hound for prey – and by “prey,” I assume they mean sweet potato French fries, one of my favourite food groups… 



My Uncle Duke - Commander (hon. HMS Ret.)



Uncle Duke as a young pup. It's like
looking in a blotchy mirror...

Initially I was very concerned that I might suffer something of an identity crisis when hearing the news from Uncle Duke. Upon careful reflection, however, I realized that given the uncertain genetic background of all of us, knowing I am more beagle/catahoula than beagle/Aussie Shepard can only serve to help me enhance my already finely tuned tree-climbing, cat-tracking and human training abilities.

As always,

Faithfully yours,

M3.

Report to the Agency:
I must apologize for the long absence in my reporting, but I am confident that you will understand my reasons once I explain. As you know better than most, the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middelton has been one of the most important events to come to the Royal Family in many years, and one of the top concerns of their Majesties, MI5, Scotland Yard and Interpol has been the security of all concerned. When I received the call a few months ago that my service were needed, and that my mission would be top secret until after the ceremony I was, of course, immediately ready to serve. The problem was simple enough: While Her Majesty the Queen and Prince Phillip and their extensive staff were at the ceremony at Westminster Abby, somebody had to guard the Royal Corgies. I confess that at first I was not thrilled by an assignment that initially appeared to be glorifies puppy-sitting, but once it was explained to me by the head of the K9 unit – also known as the Alsatian Guard, even though the force is largely made up of English bulldogs - that I and C1 would be exclusively responsible for the safety of Her Majesty's favourite dogs, I accepted the assignment proudly.
More about this later. And next time I will detail my attempt to stop Princess Beatrice from wearing as a hat - or "fascinator" what was actually intended to be a toy treat for the Royal Corgies.
Yours, as always.
Facinated,

M3

Report to The Agency: Myers-Beagle Doggynality Profiler ready.

C1 studies for the Myers-Beagle test


Report to The Agency: Myers-Beagle Doggynality Profiler ready.

As requested in your communiqué of this past summer, C1 and I have been busy preparing the new Myers-Beagle Doggynality Profiler for new agents. As you point out, it is important that The Agency is able to asses that sort of dog it hires to become agents for Her Majesty’s Corgis – especially those absent-minded Cardigan Welsh who are forever getting stuck under HRH’s Landrover.
I am happy to be able to report that we have completed the final testing, and herewith deliver the instrument.
There are, as you know, four pairs of character traits in most agents: barking/cowering, sulking/wagging, sniffing/whining and begging/stealing. In order to conduct the test we set out 16 pairs of bowls with 16 different kinds of dog-food. Each candidate has to pick one or the other of each pair. The interactions of these selections with each dog allow us to see which selection is most favoured – or “dominant.” We can then use the comparison scale that will show if a dog is obedient, wilful, brave or scared, able to down-stay or likely to fidget, a treat-beggar or a sneak-thief, and so on, ending with a complete and accurate doggynality profile for the potential agent. For example, a dog who is obedient, scared, fidgety and a sneak-thief would be a OSFS. A dog who is wilfil, brave, downstay and treat-beggar would be a WBDT.
I am certain of the accuracy of the test because both C1 and I scored as OBDS which makes us obedient, brave, able to downstay and sneak-thieves, which, as you know, are the best possible traits to have in agents.
I will send you the complete testing material by the next mail.
As always
Faithfully yours.
M3

C1 finds the Myers-Beagle exhausting

Report to the Agency: Her Majesty’s visit, and Beagle preparedness.

C1 searches for her toy squirrel


I am very pleased to be able to report that Her Royal Highness, The Queen, has arrived safely in Halifax, and has begun Her long awaited visit to our great nation. As secret agents on Her Majesty’s service it seems unlikely that C1 and I will be called upon to guard HRH’s corgis or sniff the Royal Suitcases. We are, or course, ready (Beagle Agent Motto: They Also Serve Who Sit and Pant), or at least I am; I’m not so sure about C1.
As the attached photos show, in spite of my best efforts to bring C1 along, she has a determined stubborn streak that continually gets in her way. Coupled with an insatiable curiosity and a complete disregard for caution, C1 is, in many ways, her own worst enemy. Not only that, but she is insubordinate, given to napping in the middle of day when it her turn to stand watch, and horribly forgetful – she would lose her tail if it weren’t attached.
In spite of all this, our humans dote on her as though she were a favourite child. Of course, they do that to me too, but... well... I’m me!
I’m not giving up, of course, not at all. A beagle never gives up, as Sir Winston said, or might have said, but I can only hope that if HRH calls upon us, it will be while C1 doesn’t have her head stuck in a jar.

As always.
Faithfully yours.

C1: Ever vigilant

The readiness is all

M3 and C1 practice waiting

Is there anything more difficult for an agent than having to wait and watch without being able to act? We agents are, of course, specially trained in the art of patience, but sometimes that training can be difficult to obey. We are very careful about looking after our humans, and we do the best we can to exercise the cats Leaveit and Don’tyoudare! So when we let the humans or the cats out of the house on their own, we are, naturally, very concerned since none of them seem very bright when it comes to picking up a scent or finding their way back home.

So I’m sorry to have to report that we seem to have misplaced one of the humans. The male, not usually given to wandering about much on his own, appears to have gone AWOL. We are used to him being gone a day or maybe two at a time when he has to have meetings with other members of his extended pack, but this time he has been gone for nearly a week. The female does not, however, seem concerned. Indeed, there have been times during the last few days when she has seemed almost a little more relaxed than usual. However, the pack is not complete, and we will do our best to wait and watch and exercise the cats and walk the female human and not mess up the Downdammit furniture.

Yours, as always,
M3

Report to the Agency: The importance of disguise

Spot the Hidden agent!

Agents have to be skilled at many things. One of the most important skills we can develop is the ability to hide well. Some agents wait in bushes until a car goes by and then run barking after the car. This is a very bad idea and is usually only done by agents who don’t have enough work to do. Others hide behind furniture until the family's wickedcat goes strolling by, and the agent leaps up barking, barking, barking, sending the cat up to the top of the book case, and causing human members of the family to spill their spaghetti and meat sauce all over their laps. This is also a bad idea, although some agents will admit that all the “baddogs!” and “geddows!” and threats of “No treats for you, you... you... fleabag!” are worth it to see the wickedcat stuck on the top shelf of the book case until a human helps it own and puts it outside.

The difficulty is knowing when you are completely hidden. Agents usually have long noses and long tails, and these can be very difficult indeed to get tucked out of the way. I am unhappy to have to report that I got my very sensitive agent tail caught in the car door one day when I was trying to hide under the back seat blanket, which resulted in much un-agently howling for a little, but also resulted in many yummy treats from my humans, and much cuddling. My tail was just fine in a few minutes, Still, one has to be careful.

There are many wickedcats in the neighbourhood who are remarkably good at hiding right out in the open, and I don’t know how they pull it off. They just sit very, very still on a porch step or railing when agent C1 and I go by, noses pressed to the ground in search of messages, while our humans chat away about the nice gardens.

Then, suddenly the wickedcats hiss or giggle or make some noise and, frankly, scare the kibble right out of us!

I grudgingly have to admit that they have hiding right out I the open down to a fine art.

While I am still learning the ins and outs of proper hiding, agent C1 is also having some trouble, as you can see from the accompanying photo.

Agent C1 hiding in a pot of dirt behind a shrub

My hope is that by the time spring comes we will have completed our training, and be ready to welcome the squirrels, raccoons and skunks back to the yard. By then I’m sure I’ll be able to hide completely behind the bird feeder.
Yours, as ever, safely hidden away.
Agent M3

Report to the Agency: Agent Down!

Lesson one: Learn how to look pitiful.

I received word that I had to go to the veterinarian clinic to pick up some vitally important messages. My problem: how to get there. I spent most of yesterday trying to think of some way I could get my owners to take me to the vet, but as I am not scheduled for another regular check-up for several months, there was nothing left for me to do; I had to fake an illness.

I hated to trick my humans, but I had to collect the messages in a hurry. Of course, faking a serious injury was out of the question; agents are excellent at coming up with disguises and in general being sneaky, but faking a broken leg or bent tail is just out of the question – the humans make you wear casts and put your head in a lampshade for weeks, which is just about the most humiliating thing an agent can experience.

No, I decided to settle for the old non-specific, vague-but-perhaps-serious, stomach ailment.

So at six in the morning, I hop up on my humans’ bed and start the routine. First I walk in tight circles on their stomachs, panting and arching my back. Once they are fully awake, add a little drool for effect, but not too much because that’s just unpleasant. Look apologetic – show little ears and big eyes. If the humans still don’t think it’s serious, add a little whine now and again. But don’t vomit. I know that munching the leaves from one of the house plants will usually do the job, but it’s just too unpleasant, and the humans get all focused on the cleaning instead of on you.

Anyway, sure enough, an hour later they’re on their computers, rescheduling their day and checking vet hours. So far so good.

With my female human on her way to work in a cab, my male human – who, by the way, is much easier to fool than my female – is carrying me, in a blanket, to the pre-warmed car. I’m almost starting to feel guilty.

I am, however, almost discovered at the vets. The doctor, who has been in the business of looking after agents for many years, examines me carefully and can find nothing wrong with me. I whine and limp a little, and walk in circles and pant and drool, but nothing. He just gives me the old fisheye look and says “I think I’d better take some blood and give her a shot.”

WHAT! Wait a minute! What’s a shot ? Who’s gonna...? The next thing I know they’re injecting medicine into one end and drawing blood from my forelegs into syringes at the other. “There,” the vet says. “That should make her feel better.” As if!! Now I REALLY hurt!

But I collected my messages, and when we got home, my male human made me warm oatmeal and kibble and spoon-fed me in my warm crate until I fell asleep.

So all in all, a pretty successful day.

As always,
Agent M3

At the end of an exhausting day, Agent

M3 falls asleep, contemplating the message

at the bottom of a warm bowl of oatmeal.