Ramblings
The Toll for Loyalty!
Let's be clear from the start...this post is not a complaint, it's simply pointing out how our beagle of seven months - Charlie, has changed at least a little bit of the landscape in the backyard here at 173. This is a somewhat tongue-in-cheek story so, let's get into it.
The Rascal
Here at 173, we've watched the seasons roll by for nearly thirty years. The backyard is a garden lovingly tended—pruned, planted, and preserved through the tenure of three beagles: Bruegger, Linus, and now Charlie. For decades, the flowerbeds remained undisturbed by canine curiosity, save for the occasional sniff or sunlit nap. That is, until Charlie came along.
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I think it all started back in December when we first got Charlie and we spent a lot of time in the backyard, letting him get his puppy zoomies out. He'd sprint all over the yard, and when he runs (present tense because this still happens... very happy to say!) between the Arbor Vitae and the lilac with a cute growl as he went through. Just the cutest thing!
Oh, and before I get too far into this, here's a picture from last summer...before Charlie came along. You'll notice to the left of the bench is the area we're talking about. There's a little space there, but certainly not a pathway or a tunnel, so to speak. Not yet.
And Here We Go
In his seven months with us, Charlie, with his black, white and rust coat and quiet resolve, did what no beagle before him had done: he forged a passage of his own. Between the lilac bushes and the Arbor Vitae, through tulips and lilies, he gently carved a trail. It wasn’t destruction he left in his wake, but a gentle reordering—a subtle defiance of the garden’s symmetry, softened by the sincerity of his purpose.
This path is more than just a shortcut. It is a little world unto itself, where rabbits dart and wrens nest. Charlie, ever curious, gives chase to the rabbits—not in anger or hunger, but in a game played by instinct and joy. The wrens, knowing their place in the air and trees, are left alone. There’s harmony in his choices, a kind of truce between the wild and the domestic.
Charlie’s Path
There’s something new along the yard—
Not built by hand, nor planned too hard—
A tunnel worn by padded feet
Where lilacs lean and Arbor meet.
It threads the flowerbed in bloom,
A soft revolt against the groom.
The tulips bow, the lilies bend,
Not broken—bent with tender end.
For nearly thirty years or more,
No beagle thought to press that door.
Bruegger chased and Linus dreamed,
But neither slipped where Charlie schemed.
We’ve seen him vanish through the green,
A bushy tail where stems had been.
And stepping out, as though to say:
“The world is mine, I’ve found my way.”
Among the stalks, the wrens will flit,
Unbothered where the quiet sit.
The rabbits dart—he gives a run,
But never wins; it’s all for fun.
The Steady One and I just smile—
We’ve learned to cede a foot of style.
No sense to scold or rope him in;
He walks where no one else has been.
And though we’d pruned, and trimmed, and tried,
Some things are best when not denied.
A house may stand with corners square,
Like ours—Southern and Kenosha, there—
Some dogs will make the paths they choose
Between the lilacs and the blues.
So let him wander, nose to sod—
He’s mapped a trail no other trod.
And now that path, once bloom and bed,
Feels oddly right, though garden-led.
We call it “his” and let it be—
The toll you pay for loyalty.
GB Shaw Jr.
2025
But it's All Okay!
What’s most striking isn’t the path itself, but our response to it. We’ve come to understand that some things—especially those crafted by love or instinct—resist control. Charlie’s path is not a flaw in the garden. It’s a signature. A living mark of presence and personality. Which has always been something we've valued here at 173. Here's a view from the other side of the fence...
Outside the Lines
It’s easy to believe that legacy is made in grand gestures or lifelong achievements. But often, it’s something simpler: a worn trail through the flowers, made not for efficiency, but joy. Charlie’s path reminds us that life isn’t always meant to follow the lines we draw. Sometimes, it’s meant to wander between them.
And so, we let it be. The toll we pay for loyalty is a patch of crushed grass, a few rearranged petals—and a little more room for the beautiful, unexpected choices of those we love, and one more point of interest to the"tunnels and trails" at 173!
Hey, thanks for stopping by - see ya' next time!
