My brother once had a pair of Beagle pups,
siblings. He named them George and Gracie.
They defined the saying, “Pretty as a beagle pup.”
But they fought. One summer afternoon, they lit in
fighting in our yard at the top of the hill,
and their snarling dance of teeth and spit
whirled them out onto the gravel road
and all the way down to the flat. I couldn’t see
that either won, though the bitch was smaller.
They just wore themselves out and had to quit.
I don’t know what sparked the fights, but only
my dad ever stopped one. Poised over the rolling
tangle, he snatched each dog by the scruff.
He pulled them apart and held them
until the fight went out of them.
He was that quick and that sure of himself.

-Sherry Chandler