By Linda Madrid (turned snoop)

Beauregard the Under Cover Blood Hound /Attack dog

During a recent visit to Cincinnati, this Atlanta Correspondent (turned snoop reporter) has uncovered the secret training of Beauregard, seen here as a mild manner pooch- but is really an undercover agent for Federal Bureau of Dogsnuffing and Guestintimidation.     

         The owner, of said pooch, graciously invited the totally Quackers entourage to spend the night at her beautiful country estate. The rustic looking manor sets back from the road and is hidden by trees ‘with no close neighbors’. (How convenient don’t you think; no one close to hear any screams or wild quacking noises.)  This reporter became suspicious when the owner, of said pooch, warned that the ducks should not wonder around at night unescorted, that Beau, although highly trained might mistake them for a midnight snack. (Hmm….my first clue of attack dog training!)  

         Beau accompanied our hostess and us on our ascent up a long winding staircase and down a long dark narrow hallway. Then after another short (trip hazard) incline, we came to what was to be our bedroom for the night.  It was a small but comfortable attic room with no lock on the door. (Hmm...) Upon reaching our room, I open my suitcase to retrieve a small token of our appreciation, when the blood hound training in Beau showed itself.  Beau’s head darted in and out of my suitcase, with his snuffer working overtime. (Thank goodness it was our first night away from home so there was no dirty underwear for him to find.) Beau, with a nose that any drug enforcement officer would be proud of, was able to sniff out contraband in this reporter’s suitcase. (Yes, I confess even though I am on a diet I had a stash of granola bars hidden in my suitcase.)   

       With warnings of “There are furry creatures that roam the night”, (no lock on the door to keep them out!!!!!) and “Do not come down the stairs before morning”, our hostess said “good night”.  I discovered that a barricade of heavy gauge steel and barb wire was placed at the foot of the staircase (Hmm…another clue.)   At night, Beauregard (guard and attack dog!!) roams the lower reaches of the manor. Rumor has it that some unsuspecting soul lost a foot trying to breach the barricade before morning.

         Baby Quackers and Junior slept with me that night.  We all wondered if the furry creatures of the night had a taste for duck.  In the morning, while still in my pajamas, and the smell of coffee in the air, I followed my nose to the kitchen. (Thank goodness the barricade had been removed.)  Before my morning coffee, I have trouble seeing, hearing, thinking, or even speaking coherently.  Our (up until this moment) gracious hostess began to laugh.  It seems she found humor in my cowlick, which makes my hair stand on end.  My hair does not respond to combing and I am not even sure I can raise my arms high enough to comb my hair until after MY MORNING COFFEE.  

          Getting her laugher under control, she explained how she has to leave early for work. The Quackers and I are welcome to stay and finish our coffee and breakfast.  We need only lock the door when we leave.

 “Oh, by the way, would you mind putting Beau in his cage before you leave,” she casually says.  “He has lately been chewing up books and CDs,” she adds. (Acid rock CDs, Rap CDs and cheap romance novels have the same effect on me, too Beau.)  Our hostess proceeded to demonstrate how easy it is to get Beau into his cage.  A doggy biscuit from the canister, wave the biscuit in front of his nose, a toss of the biscuit into his cage, a final little push of his tush and close the door. Maybe it was a lack of coffee to the brain, but I agreed. (I thought I heard laughter as our hostess was leaving.)  

  Bags were packed and setting at the front door. The ducks were resting comfortably in their travel bag.  Beau sensing it was cage time lies down on his large lounging cushion in the corner of the room and begins to leer at me.    I first try one doggy treat. I waved the biscuit in front of his nose.  Beau did not even bat an eye. So I tried two doggy treats.  It was as if Beau had turned to stone. (Stone with teeth, that is) Three doggy treats and even a demonstration of how easy it was to get down on all fours and crawl into the cage; Beau would not budge.  I seem to remember instructions (or perhaps it was just my coffee-starved brain) that I should take him by the collar and lead him to the cage.    As I reached for his collar he growled (I begin to feel I was the lamb about to be eaten by the big bad wolf.).  It was then I realized that, yes, Beau was indeed an attack dog.  He was just pretending to be a stone and was waiting for his chance to pounce.  I slowly backed away and in a friendly doggy voice (which sounds very much like baby talk), I said “If Beauzzy woozy doesn’t want to go into that nasty old cage he doesn’t have to”. As I backed towards the door, Beau is suddenly no longer a stone; he is moving towards us.   With quick thinking, I said, “Beau, quick in the bedroom by the bed a cheap romance novel KILL!!”