Report to The Agency: M3 makes New Year’s Resolutions

Report to The Agency: M3 makes New Year’s Resolutions

According to the Agency Field Manual for Puppies – “Be Outstanding in Your Field,” 3rd Edition, 2008 – all agents on deployment are required to make New Year’s resolutions that will strive to be in the best interest of the agent , The Agency, and the humans in the puppy’s care. To that end, please find the list of my ten New Year’s Resolutions as follows:

1. I will work hard to help keep my humans’ cats exercised.
   



2. I will file at least 100 newly discovered smells every week.
   



3. I will make sure my humans do not become lazy from sleeping in on Saturday and Sunday mornings.
   



4. I will file regular squirrel sightings.
   



5. I will keep training my humans to give me treats after every time I do something such as sit or lie down. I will do this mostly by suddenly seeming to forget everything they believe they have taught me so they think they have to start all over again.
   



6. I will be diligent in sniffing out new messages from Big Wag at The Agency by stopping at every, single, sniffable scent when I take my humans for a walk.
   



7. I will do my very best to get to know James Hound, Agent K9, better, and try to learn from him.
   



8. I will try to devour more of my humans’ books, especially the Anglican Book of Common Prayer which I find almost impossible to put down.
   



9. I will make sure my humans get to know their local veterinarians by developing vague and non-specific stomach ailments in the middle of the night on weekends.
   



10. I will strive to not become predictable in my behaviours by seeming to not like the same snack food several days in a row, and then suddenly wolfing them down like I think they are the best thing on the planet.
    

That’s my list. The only thing I have to add is to wish everyone at The Agency a happy, healthy, prosperous and tail-wagging New Year.

As Always
M3

Report to The Agency: M3 and a Sense of Smell

While keyboarding my report to The Agency, which I have to do while my humans are asleep, I discovered that their Internet access is secured. This meant that I had to spend all of three minutes – 21 minutes in dog minutes – to guess their password.
Humans, I have learned, are odd and inconsistent creatures. For one thing they take great pride in their ability to walk on two legs. As you can see from the attached picture, there really is nothing very special bout that – I do it all the time when I need to look over snow banks or bridge railings – I am rather short for a secret agent. Not only that, but they have an expression they use all the time: “Just follow your nose,” but they hardly ever do!

Humans have a very poor sense of smell. When I take them for a walk through the neighbourhood and down to the village, they will carry on about how fresh the air smells, or how wonderful the smells are coming from the coffee shop or the bakery. But all that time they have been missing the thousands of smells I have been keeping track of! Squirrels, cats, other dogs, the woman who just went by and who was visiting her horse in those boots a few days ago, the kid who is carrying an egg salad sandwich in his backpack and the couple who are having coffee at the cafe while leaving their German shepherd home alone. All those and a thousand others smells and traces tell me everything I need to know about what’s going on in the neighbourhood. I know, for instance, that Mrs. Franklin’s son Peter is home sick from school, and that his cat Paws has worms.

It’s exhausting being an agent, having to keep track of all the coming and goings in the village, and what everybody is up to – and I do keep very careful track, I assure you. So is it any surprise that I sometimes have a little nap around two or three in the afternoon?

What really gets to me, though, is when my humans come and look at me and comment on how cute I look, and how nice it must be to have nothing to do but just lie around all day. “It’s a dog’s life,” they chuckle. Or “Poor Millie – dog tired again.”

Sometimes I think they have no idea at all about what it’s like being a Beagle Agent.

Yours,
Having filed another 200 new smells today
M3

Report to the Agency: M3 receives her Agency kit.

Report to the Agency: M3 receives her Agency kit.
Well. I’m happy to report that my agent kit finally arrived. Following my field placement in Stavanger, Norway, my kit was misplaced by Denmark On the Go (DOG) Airline, which left me without my equipment until they could retrieve it and send it on to me.

But now that I have it again, I can begin my work in earnest.

The kit contains all the gear an agent needs to do her work. All the various items are, of course, cleverly disguised as everyday dog stuff so no one will suspect what I am really doing when I take my owners for walks or when I am checking the house for suspicious objects. What appears to be just a simple bag of yummy puppy treats are, in fact, tracking devices that, once swallowed by a dog, will let me track it for several days. And that dog tooth brush? Well, it allows me to decode the messages left by other doggy agents as they walk around the neighbourhood. I can, of course, carry a variety of other items, including emergency dog food, bus tickets, my Barkberry cell phone and GPS, and a small thermos of coffee.

A couple of days ago I was hiking down the street with my kit on, adjusting the straps and getting used to the weight on my back again, when I heard old Growler – James Hound – chuckling. “What are those things on your back, Agent M3?” he asked. When I told him he shook his big, shaggy head. “What will they think of next?” he muttered. “In my day they gave us a few sharpened pencils and come beef jerky, and sent us out on the job. We didn’t need anyof all that electronic flimflammery, I can tell you that.” His voice trailed off as he started to reminisce about “the Good Old Days.”

But my toothbrush was buzzing, telling me that another message was being dropped somewhere in the area, and I needed to get going. So I hiked up my shoulder straps and got back to work. For me, of course, these are “The Good Old Days,” and I plan to make the most of them before it’s my turn to lie on a porch and wonder where the younger generation thinks it’s going.

As always,
Yours,
M3

Report to The Agency: M3 and the Christmas Home Intruder.

Report to The Agency: M3 and the Christmas Home Intruder.

As the agent responsible for security in my new home, I am constantly alert and vigilant, even when I look like I’m asleep and my paws are twitching like I’m chasing bunnies. So it should come as no surprise, then, that when I heard unusual noises coming from outside last night, I was instantly opening one eye while pretending to be sound asleep on the couch.

The sound was not one I have heard before during the last few weeks of my visit here, so it made me very curious. At first it sounded a little like the small decorative bells my humans have put in the fir tree they brought into the house a few days ago. They also placed all sorts of other colourful ornaments on the tree, each of which I have inspected for hidden cameras and other suspicious devices used by Canine Operators Not Totally Real Or Lovable, (CONTROL). I have no idea what the humans are up to with this tree and all the decorations, but then there is so much about these humans I don’t yet understand.

Anyway, the jingling sound from outside stopped, and I was about to pretend I was drifting back to sleep when I heard what sounded like someone walking on the roof of the house.

Now, I have learned there are many rules in my new home: no chewing on pillows, for some reason, and no helping myself to books from the bottom book shelf, even though I have only read half of Jack London’s “Call of the Wild” and still don’t know what happened to Buck, the dog. In light of all these rules, I was pretty sure that walking on the roof was a pretty big no-no.
I sat up, cocked my head to one side to hear better, and looked at the ceiling, trying to guess what the intruder was up to. The steps were moving across the roof towards the chimney.
Suddenly, there was a thump behind the fireplace screen, and as I watched in amazement, a short, heavy-set older man with a white beard was standing in my living room! The burglar was wearing a furry red hat, and had a red suit on with a big, black, leather belt. His clothing looked very odd, but then again my own humans also wear odd clothing sometimes, especially the male who is given to wearing something called “sweater-vests” in spite of what the female human says.

I was so surprised I couldn’t even bark. He looked at me, his blue eyes twinkling behind his small, round reading glasses, and then he winked at me and put his finger to his lips to indicate that I should be quiet, which I thought was pretty nervy for a home intruder. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a rawhide bone filled with something that looked very yummy and gave it to me, making me sit first, even though I tried not to. The bone was as yummy as it looked, and since my razor-sharp instincts immediately told me there was nothing wrong with it, I had a lick or two or three, and a little bite, determined to leave some of it as evidence.
The intruder had a large very colourful bag with him, and he proceeded to pull out some packages and place them around the tree. I chuckled to myself as I watched, thinking that he must be new at the burglary game because he was doing it all wrong, leaving stuff instead of taking it.

Then, he reached into his bag one last time, pulled out a big, red sock, and gave it to me.

“For brave little Agent M3,” he said with a big smile, scratching me behind the ears. “You have found a good home at last. Guard it well.” And as he straightened up and tightened up his bag, he chuckled softly: “Merry Christmas.” Then he placed his finger alongside his nose, winked, and vanished up the chimney again.
Were it not for the presents under the tree and the red sock full of all sorts of yummy secret agent treats, I would have thought it was all some sort of dream, or a trick being played by The Agency – Big Wag has an odd sense of humour some times. But I can still feel the comfortable spot where he scratched me behind the ears. For a home intruder, he was pretty nice.

I hope he comes again.

Yours,
Agent M3 – ever vigilant. And as the humans would say: Merry Christmas!

Report to The Agency: M3 receives a Mysterious Package

Report to The Agency: M3 receives a mysterious package

It was left at the front door. The package was clearly delivered and not mailed since there were no stamps or other postal markings, nor was there a return address. At first I thought it was my standard issue supplies from The Agency since I’ve been expecting them, but the card on the package told me otherwise. It was signed “From Santa Ho Ho Ho”. I’d seen the writing before, but where?

I was tempted to first bring the package around to Agent Hound, James Hound, who is now living just down the street. But I thought better of it. His bomb-sniffing days are well behind him, his senses declining, and, well, I’m not sure he would even talk to me. So I carefully examined the package and the footprints that led from the front steps and to the sidewalk. They looked like a man’s footprint. Size nine loafer, making him about say 5’8 or so, 165 lbs? But were these tracks from the mysterious “Santa” or the letter carrier, or some other human?

I brought the package inside and to my humans’ bedroom. If anything unpleasant were to come out of this mystery package, I thought it best that it happen in that room since I’m not really supposed to go in there by myself, so of course they’d never suspect me of any wrongdoing.
The gold foil paper was shiny and bright. There was a green bow attached to the paper and affixed to the bow was the mysterious note from “Santa”. I sniffed and poked with my beagle nose, but all I could smell was that human scent I tracked into the street. That and leather. It could be from the package, or perhaps from the gloves the person wore to prevent me from spotting any finger prints.

The package was pretty, but I tore at it anyway, ripping the gold foil. When I got to the parcel, imagine my surprise when it appeared to be a small, round briefcase with, on one side, an attractive stylized image of a black dog with a little red buckle collar.

I opened the case and saw what were clearly two round stainless steel bowls, cleverly disguising two secret compartments. I opened the bowl on the left by moving three latches and in the hollow behind the bowl I found a package. Silica Gel. Any novice agent may have fallen into that trap, but not me. Not again. That’s a puppy mistake. The secret compartment on the right side behind the other bowl held the same. But I can tell this secret area could hold several treats, a few i.d. tags, and perhaps my new red bandana if I folded it very carefully. This “briefcase” could come in handy, and, of course, the bowls will certainly be useful. I have to eat even if I’m on assignment.

The base of the suitcase has “World Traveller” inscribed on it. So I can assume it is a gift from someone who knows me – or my reputation.

I will tuck this little gift inside my crate and see if I’m contacted by the mystery gift giver or if I can gather any more clues to establish his or her identity. I will report any breaks in the case as soon as I can.

Yours,
M3

Report to The Agency: M3 meets a legend.

Report to The Agency: M3 meets a legend.

Imagine my surprise when I learned that the golden retriever who lives in the old house with the big porch down the street in none other than James Hound, Agent K9, Licensed to Track, himself.

Agent Hound – known to most people as Old Growler because he was rumoured to always be in a bad mood – retired from the agency many years ago, long before my time. Who would have guessed I would wind up living just down from that most famous of Her Majesty’s agents?
I should have recognized Agent Hound from his picture on The Agency’s Kennel Wall of Fame, but he is so much older now. Hound has a long and glorious career as a tracker and airport luggage sniffer. He was famous for never giving up on a search, even when other agents turned tail and ran away or lost the scent. The Great K9 was famous for his never-say-die attitude. The dog with the golden nose, is what his humans used to call him – we had to learn all about him in puppy school at The Agency. He always wanted ice-cubes in his water bowl – shaken, not stirred – so they said, and he reported directly to Big Wag herself! As far as I know he never married or had pups, and his owner is also retired. I’m pretty sure they live there all alone.
But Agent Hound, of course, must have recognized me right away, maybe even the first day I arrived at my new home. I know because just today, when my owners and I were walking past Old Growler’s porch, he raised that great shaggy head of his just enough to snarl: “I’ve got my eye on you, M3. In my day a little beagle like you would never have made it at The Agency. Things must be pretty desperate there now.” I just gulped and smiled. I think he could swallow me whole if he wanted.

I wonder if he would mind if I dropped off one of the many rawhide bones my owners have bought me. He looks like he could use something to chew on other than little beagle agents. Maybe he might even be coached into telling me some of his stories from the early days. We shall see.

Yours,
Agent M3.

Report to The Agency: M3 receives a message.

Report to The Agency: M3 receives a message.

It’s possible I received a message from The Agency today. My humans came home this afternoon carrying bags with an assortment of objects, some, of course, were treats for me and some were treats for them, but one bag, interestingly, contained a package just for me. They happily handed it over to me and I was able to make some initial assessments. The object is plush and disguised as a small, hollowed out tree trunk. Inside the trunk, however, there are three small "toy" squirrels. I’m not sure my adopted owners were aware of the presence of the squirrels. They innocently left me alone with the object and I cleverly took it behind the couch to examine it fully.
Upon closer examination I discovered that the “squirrels” could be extracted from the plush trunk through a few small holes. I gave one of the cute creatures a tentative chew, and it made a squeaking sound! I chewed it again, and it squeaked again!
I recalled my puppy training at The Agency, and recognized immediately that the toy was communicating in Morse code.
Imagine my excitement! Finally, a message directly from The
Agency, possibly even from Big Wag herself!
I bit down again, and kept track of the squeaks. I tried the other two toy squirrels and they squeaked too! In harmony once or twice!
It was difficult to keep track of all the squeaks, but after about an hour, and before my owners took the squirrel-stuffed plush tree trunk away from me and put it on top of the refrigerator for what they called “some time next year,” I was able to piece together a cryptic but possibly quite meaningful message: “Argle imbref snurt orkiff.”
I’m not sure what it means yet, but whatever Big Wag is trying to tell me I promise I will figure it out.
But first I have to find some way to get to the top of the refrigerator.
More to come.
M3

M3 decodes a message.

Report to The Agency: M3 in The Great Escapes.

Report to The Agency: M3 in The Great Escapes.

As per my basic training during my early days with The Agency, I decided a few days ago to test the security of the perimeter of my new headquarters. My adopted owners are remarkably trusting, and during a moment of distraction when the male let go my leash, I seized the moment to make a break for freedom.

The look on his face was most interesting as he tried to look nonchalant while stepping slowly toward my dragging leash – it was rather like fishing, I thought.

I, of course, waited ‘till the last second, and then using the lightning reflexes honed during my many hours of Dog Fu training, especially the Downward Human move, I flashed past him and out to the sidewalk where my inner compass indicated where I could find the deepest snowdrift to jump over as I headed down the street.

My human was lumbering along most pathetically, trying to call out my name while at the same time not attract the attention of the neighbours. He tripped and plunged into the snow bank, just at the same time as one of the neighbours rolled down the window in her van and told him that I went “that way!”

I had to wait several minutes in a neighbour’s back yard for him to catch up, looking like an angry Yeti, and when he was just about upon me I sped between his legs and back out to the sidewalk again, spraying him with wet snow as I did.

He said a great many unkind words using very large vowels which I couldn’t possibly repeat here.

When it was clear that he was unable to keep up, and I had run several circles around him many blocks from our home, I allowed him to “catch” me.

You would have thought he would have been happier to see me.

Anyway, a couple of days later I tried the same on the female, who, as it turned out, was much more determined to catch me, and dove into several mud puddles and heaps of slushy snow in an effort to catch my leash.

She did not appear to see the humour in the exercise, and is now making me sit at every street corner, even when the ground is frozen, which I find almost as undignified as leaping into the mud after a dog’s leash.

As Shakespeare’s dog said: “Lord, what fools these humans be.”

Yours Truly
M3

Cat-napping (pardon the expression) after the Great Escapes

M3 and the curious case of the hidden camera

Report to The Agency: M3 and the curious case of the hidden camera

One recent afternoon while patrolling the house, I had the curious sensation of being watched. Beagle secret agents are, of course, carefully trained by The Agency to be hyper-vigilant at all times. Even when it appears we are asleep on the couch with an ear flopped over our eyes we are, in fact, using our special powers to constantly keep track of what’s going on around us.

The sensation of being watched was most unsettling as neither of the cats were around at the time. The black cat – which I have taken to calling “The Phantom” because she is still hiding out in the basement near the furnace – was, of course not around, and the white one – Mittens, the karate expert who likes to try out his moves on me when my tail is turned, was outside, no doubt planning his next assault on me. My Mistress was busy writing at her table and not paying attention to me.

There could only be one answer.

Well, two.

Either there was a stranger in the house, or I was being somehow watched by the agents of Canine Operators Not Totally Real Or Lovable, or C.O.N.T.R.O.L. I decided to investigate. My trained eyes roamed over the furniture and the bookcases searching for any evidence of electronic video devices, and suddenly I spotted it! There! On the second shelf of the bookcase! A teddy bear cleverly disguised as a listening device and hidden camera! I gasped. Those fiendish agents had invaded the home of my new owners and managed to install their equipment in that innocent stuffed bear!

I moved like lightning! I grabbed the bear from the shelf and immediately managed to disable whatever miniature electronic devices were in it. The stuffing made a bit of a mess, but at least I knew the eyes and nose cameras would never work again. In the middle of my work my adopted mistress came over and took the bear from me, no doubt grateful for my efforts and my vigilance – she looked very concerned for my safety, and could barely manage to contain herself long enough to encourage me to go and lie down and rest after my work.

Take that! C.O.N.T.R.O.L

Another job well done.

Yours truly.
M3

Illness strikes, and I assume a new code name

As luck would have it, the cats did not prove to be much of a problem, but my old illness did. Let me explain.

There are two cats here at my new headquarters – one black and rather rotund named Maya who does not take much exercise, and the other an arrogant old cat called Mittens because of his extra digits on the front paws. Maya went to ground in the basement near the furnace the minute she clapped eyes on me. I wonder if we have encountered one another before – in Istanbul or Damascus perhaps, or Grenoble or St. Petersburg. I have run her image through my photographic memory, but do not recall ever meeting her before. Mittens, on the other hand (haha) has clearly never been “in the game.” He grumps around the place, hissing and snarling at me at every turn, not realizing I could turn him into a squeaky toy with one paw tied behind my back. But we are beginning to come to terms and reach an understanding.

Unhappily, my old complaint returned within a few days of my setting up shop in my new abode. My adopted caretakers refer rather patronizingly to this nasty condition as “Kennel Cough,” which is like calling shingles ‘itchy.’ I first contracted what I was told by a back-ally doctor in Havana is a form of recurring pneumonia when I was stationed in Cuba by The Agency. I had hoped the illness was cured, but it returned, and with a vengeance. I can’t help but wonder if this Maya – which sounds very much like a Nom de Guerre to me – somehow tinkered with my food. At any rate, my adopted owners took me to a doctor who prescribed the correct antibiotics, and even though I now feel listless a lot of the time, at least I’m on the mend.

While I was the clinic, I was able access the computer which had been left unguarded by the nurse, and got a message off to the Agency. I am adopting the code name M3.

Must run - more soon.
M3

The Assignment

Today I decided to allow myself to be adopted. Earlier in the morning a very nice couple stopped by the Animal Control Pound where I had been lying low since my last assignment: The Case of the Broken Leash, but they lived in the wrong city, and were clearly the kind of people who would not take me for walks very often. Going for walks is essential if I’m to get my messages to The Agency, so I turned them down. But in the late afternoon another couple came by, and I liked them immediately. She seemed like a very kind and understanding person, and he obviously doted on her and would do pretty much whatever she wanted: my kind of people. They talked about how quiet and intelligent I seemed, and how much they were looking forward to walking me around their downtown neighbourhood. Perfect, I thought. There would be a small back yard where I could work out and keep in shape, and plenty busses I could use to get my information to The Agency as I gathered it.

I decided right away to let them adopt me.

I didn’t have to pack anything except a small bag of food and my collar – I travel light. Of course, my collar is not just a collar, but more about that later.

The car ride to my new home was very enjoyable, although I had to work hard to look out all the windows so I could keep track of where I was going. The Agency doesn’t like it if we get lost, so even though it means standing on my new owners’ laps while they were driving, I made sure to memorize the landmarks and the important smells until we pulled into the driveway. I knew immediately I would like my new home.

Except...
There were two cats.
This could be trouble.