Connery is a breedist Beagle.
“BEWARE!” he bays, if a problem breed comes into his orbit. “DO NOT WANT!”
If he spots such an individual while we’re running an agility course, I can be pretty sure he’s going to bring down a bar or pop a weave, because he just can’t think beyond the worrisome presence of that dog. He tries so hard that it’s palpable but he just. Can. Not.
To be fair to Connery, he has reasons. Good ones. Like his objection to Boxers? The first dog who attacked him was a Mastiff—a huge creature with a head the size of Connery’s whole body. A big fawn dog with black points and a big squoosh face: close enough to a Boxer, if you’re Connery.
Obviously, if that Mastiff had closed his jaws around Connery, it would have killed him. But I screamed, and Connery screamed, and he fled a desperate circle at the end of his leash. Will I ever forget the sight of those massive jaws snapping closed against his tucked butt? Continue reading »