He looks cute there, but he can usually be found in one of these two positions:
Ignatius is my family's beagle, and he is the worst dog in the world. Pretty sure anyone who has met him would testify to that. He is a ripe old ten years old now, but we got him (from the pound) when he was a mere ten weeks:
As you can imagine, Ignatius was a darling puppy. Beagle puppies are on a whole different level of cute. My dad was mourning the loss of his Jack Russell, Layla, and we all went together (in the fateful January of 2001)--my dad, stepmom, sis, and me--to pick out a new pup for Daddy as soon as he was ready.
We were all immediately drawn to the two month old beagle, who flopped in our arms and won us over. However, the workers at the humane society eyed us suspiciously as we affirmed that he was indeed the one we wanted to take home.
It wasn't until we'd gotten him home, and he had started raising hell, that we learned that in his ten weeks of life, he had been adopted and returned twice. How is that even possible??? My dad and stepmom considered this a life (well, ~12 year) sentence for them, as they knew that they couldn't return him a third time, because it was pretty obvious what would then become his fate.
Once in a while, he looks sweet (okay, really just when he's sleeping).
Here are some of the incidents that Ignatius has put my dad and stepmom through in his ten years of life thus far (I swear that all of these are 100% fact):
- Busted through every single screen window in their house (and once, busted through glass, requiring an expensive trip to the emergency vet and stitches in his cut paw)
- Destroyed my stepmom's new living room furniture mere weeks after his adoption
- Howled so incessantly that the neighbors were threatening to call the police within the first few days of his life as a Kiefer
- Gotten kicked out of obedience school (my dad refers to it as Ignatius's "expulsion"--the trainer said Ignatius was "distracting the more serious learners")
- Took a Tylenol PM, unbeknownst to anyone at home, and passed out unconscious. He was rushed to the emergency vet (Ig and the emergency vet are practically bffs by now) and given over $400 of blood tests, only to determine that he'd eaten one of my dad's Tylenols
- "Taken advantage of" our innocent girl doggie, Django, resulting in Ignatius's penis getting stuck out. Not kidding. Stuck out (wouldn't retract), causing Ig extreme pain and my father a VERY embarrassing trip to the emergency vet
- Howled through a 130-guest wedding that was held at my dad and stepmom's house
- Escaped out the front door (his younger brother, Atticus, trailing behind him) and ran into the street, where a jeep ran over both dogs. Atticus died immediately (RIP), and Ignatius was rushed to the emergency vet (noticing a pattern?) with broken bones and ribs. The first emergency vet suggested we put him to sleep. We took him to another vet, who set his bones and put Ignatius in a body cast. It was red. Again, not kidding. So wish I had a picture of that . . .
- Interrupted my dad's lobster boil for his clients (Dad is a corporate chef) and ate five lobster carcasses, resulting in the extraction of one of his teeth (and lots of vomit)
- Has continually peed on Dad and Amy's bed every time Dad is out of town for any more than a couple days (Ignatius and Dad have a little bit of co-dependency, if you haven't detected that already)
- Was offered free services from Bark Busters because the agent had heard his case was so severe
I am going to stop there because otherwise, I will go on all day.
Why am I telling you about Ignatius? Because I was on the phone with my Daddy yesterday (debriefing the Falcons' triumph over the 49ers), when he told me about Ignatius's latest stunt. And I'm still sort of in awe.
My dad is a corporate chef for Schwan's foods. He does Research & Development for various restaurant chains. Because his job is to develop new recipes and menu items, he has a test kitchen at home. A couple weeks ago, he and his colleagues were working on a photo shoot for one of their clients, Red Robin. Dad was out of town on business, so one of his colleagues, Ciaran, came over to the test kitchen to stage the photo shoot. Another colleague flew in from Dallas for it. Ciaran set everything up and arranged for the photographers to come out the next day.
And the next day, when Ciaran arrived at the kitchen to meet with the photographers? Every single bun was gone. All twelve of them. Now, there isn't a Red Robin in the area, so it's not like they could go out and purchase replacement buns for the shoot. Instead, they had to express order some from another city, and in the meantime, dash to the farmers market to find the closest possible buns to use as a substitute.
Between debacles like that, and the fact that Ignatius howls through every one of my dad's conference calls . . . it's a wonder my daddy still has his job.