​There are some dogs who arrive in our life as clients…
and then there are the ones who stay long enough, deep enough, and true enough to become family.

Gus was the first dog we have ever had to say goodbye to who had been with us since he was a tiny puppy.

His parents came for the meet-and-greet weeks before he even arrived in Cape Town, excited and prepared for their new boy — and from the moment he first stepped into our home at nine weeks old, he quietly became part of the fabric of our lives.
He never felt like “a client.”
Not then, not ever.
My heart responds to his name the way it responds to one of my own dogs — that familiar swelling, that soft ache, that quiet smile that lives behind the ribs.
​
From the beginning, Gus was a presence.
A character.
A little soul with a big imprint.
And without us realising it at the time, he would go on to help shape the path that later became Beagle in Mind.

If Gus did something he shouldn’t have, and you said,
“Gus… what have you done?”
He would immediately lift his chin, glance down at you with those sideways embarrassed eyes making slits, then tuck his head under your chin in the most dramatic apology pose… while the tippy-tip of his tail wagged like a malfunctioning metronome, paws on your shoulders almost wrapping around your neck.
You couldn’t stay cross. Not even for a second.
​
And then there was his relationship with the little pug puppy named Grim who used to stay — a partnership that can only be described as chaotic affection.
Grim would antagonise Gus.
Gus would chase him, grab him by his doggy coat, spin him two or three times like some kind of canine fairground ride, and fling him.
We were horrified the first time.
Grim, however, would get up, march back to Gus, and demand another round.
This was their Thing.
Their strange, joyful little dance.

That was the essence of Gus: full of life, full of humour, full of life, full of heart.

Over the years, Gus’s mom shared so many stories with us — those real-life, honest, “only-a-Beagle-could-do-this” moments that had her at her wits’ end and had us quietly chuckling at times and supporting, figuring out or learning right along side her at others.

Like the time she painstakingly fixed and fenced off her garden…
only for Gus to find a way through the fence, get himself stuck on the other side, and wait there as if to say,
“Well… I’ve made a mistake, now get me outta here.”

Or when she had guests over and kept him outside for a moment, and he decided the most reasonable solution was to clamber halfway through the window — his back half dangling outside, his front half inside, stuck in the burglar bars, waiting for assistance like a slightly embarrassed yet rather pleased with himself toddler.

Or the time he managed to escape, only to sit quietly on the sidewalk waiting for someone to find him because he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with this sudden freedom.
Gus was brave… until he wasn’t. And then he waited politely.

There were the midnight messages too — the ones every true Beagle parent knows.
The night she woke up to find he had poo’d in the bed.
Or when he politely woke her for a wee, went outside, returned… and then wee’d in his own bed anyway. Or broke into her landlord's dogs' food bin and had to have his stomach pumped.

She was young, and she loved him fiercely. We thought more than she even knew. 
And through every mischief, every mishap, every confused adventure, she loved him and learned from him — and we learned right alongside her.

Not just about behaviour, but about health, skin issues, ears, allergies, nutrition… all the things that later became part of what we teach.

Those shared stories stitched us all together — Gus, his mom, and us — into a bond of learning, laughter, friendship, frustration, and love.

They were the moments that built history.

The moments that built understanding.
​
The moments that built us.

This week his mom let us know that the vet was on the way to help him cross over.
And that was the moment everything hit — the years, the memories, the lessons, the tiny comedic moments, the big soul moments, the hours and days and weeks he spent as part of our family.

The way our own dogs helped raise him.
The way he welcomed fosters.
The way he settled into our routines as though written into them from the start.
The way he helped shape what we now teach, guide, encourage, and hold space for.

Gus lived big.
He loved big.
He mattered — in ways we will only continue to understand as time goes on. In ways we didn't realise until we heard it was time to say good-bye.
​
To his mom:
We love you.
Thank you for trusting us with him.
For allowing us to be part of his story.
For sharing your boy with us all these years.
You did everything right.
You gave him the best life.
And we are honoured — truly — to have been part of it.

"No one should leave this earth without knowing what chocolate tastes like"
​- N Angouras

It’s funny how the smallest decisions can open entire paths you never saw coming.
For us, it began at Battle Bunker.

We had gone in one Thursday morning to look for a few items from the new Pokémon set — nothing too serious, just curiosity and a sense of “let’s see what this is all about.” We bought a few things, headed home… and then something unexpected happened.

We opened loads of packets.

And just like that, the opening bug bit — hard.

Before long, we were back at Battle Bunker with more questions than answers (and, admittedly, ready to buy more packets). We were met with genuine friendliness and patience, and someone gently suggested:
“You should come in next Saturday — some of the collectors will be here. You can get your questions answered and swap cards.”

So we did.

And that’s where things shifted.

It was on that Saturday that we met Danie from STARS Collectables. A simple, quick yet warm conversation. A shared interest. A friendly invitation to join their WhatsApp group.

Another small moment that didn’t seem like much at the time…

…but ended up being the doorway into something much bigger.

Joining STARS Collectables opened us into a community we didn’t know we were longing for — people who were warm, welcoming, knowledgeable, generous, and genuinely excited to help. People who offered guidance without gatekeeping. People who shared tips openly and made space for newcomers with genuine enthusiasm.

Names quickly became familiar:
Every single one shaping our journey in small but meaningful ways.
Every interaction carrying a softness, a sincerity, and a sense of “we’re all here because we love this.”

We didn’t expect that kind of kindness.
It caught us off guard.
And it stayed with us.

But the story doesn’t actually begin there.
It began a little earlier — in a tiny, quiet shop selling fake Pokémon cards.

We weren’t there looking for cards; we were looking for something to temporarily store them in. The woman working there was kind and tried her best to help. She mentioned she had bought some of the fake cards for her brother, and then apologised, almost embarrassed.

His response to her?

That she must never apologise.
He was simply grateful to have Pokémon cards at all.

And something in that moment touched us — deeply and unexpectedly.

Kindness doesn’t have to be perfect.
It just has to be real.

That small story nudged us into putting together a proper set for her brother. A simple act, but one that opened the door to everything that came next.

Meanwhile, on our own side of this journey, something else was unfolding.
David has often told the story of how he “got his son into Pokémon” years ago. They collected together for a time, and even after his son grew older, his love for it never faded. When David suggested collecting the Phantasmal Flames set now, it wasn’t nostalgia for Pokémon itself — it was the memory of collecting anything as children, and the desire to keep a thread of connection alive:

with his son,
and maybe one day with his grandson,
who will turn two this year, all the way in Germany.

So the collecting began.
And grew.
And deepened.
And then, unexpectedly, spilled into something larger.
Because the truth is: we are still at the very beginning of this story.

Poke4Paws is not a finished idea.
It’s not a rigid plan.
It’s not a business model carved in stone.
It is an unfolding — one we’re allowing to grow at its own pace.

We’re starting somewhere simple, with a rough idea of what we’d like it to become, and a willingness to let time shape the rest.

What we do know is this:
We want to extend the same sense of community we have felt.
We want to help make cards more accessible to people who find them expensive.
We want to raise funds for Beagle in Mind in a way that is light, joyful, and sustainable.
And we want to “pay it forward” to some of the people we’ve met along the way — like the couple who sell Pokémon cards to buy school supplies for under-resourced kids.

Because generosity doesn’t stay still.
It moves.
It ripples.
It continues through others.
And in a gentle way, Poke4Paws mirrors the heart of Beagle in Mind itself.

“Building Relationships Through Education” has always been our guiding principle — whether with dogs, their families, or the wider community. And now, unexpectedly, that principle has rooted itself here too. Through cards. Through kindness. Through shared hobby and human connection.

So this is where we are now:
the beginning.
A little crossroads of kindness, collecting, and community.
A project born from chance encounters and good people.
A hobby with a heartbeat.

If you’d like to follow the journey, support it, or simply be part of the community that continues to shape it, you’re warmly welcome.
We’re here, still learning, still building, still letting the story unfold — one card, one kindness, one connection at a time.

If you feel drawn to do so, please follow us on Facebook and Instagram. 

​On Monday, 29 September 2025, we (us and BRAG) met Fred’s foster dad at the vet hospital after work. Earlier that day we were notified that Fred wasn't doing well.

The recommendation that day was to let him go that evening.
I went to see him that afternoon, expecting a tired, fading little dog.
Instead, I found this scrawny boy with a spark in his eye, tugging at his lead and giving me a look that clearly said, “Well? Come on then!” He wasn’t ready to go anywhere except for a walk around the car park from car to car, clearly wanting me to load him in and take him away. We eventually compromised and hung out together in the back of the van — two souls meeting in that strange space between uncertainty and hope.

That evening, as conversations continued (there was a lot of talk — test results, options, what might come next) between BRAG, Fred’s foster dad, and us, it became clear that Fred wasn’t done. He was eating, drinking, curious. He was amused by us sitting there in the dark, our words serious while he was only interested in the Viennas and biltong.
And so, it was decided — Fred would come home with me to Beagle in Mind for 24-hour care "until he is ready" - whatever that meant. And that’s where the beautiful, improbable journey began.

The Rules Fred Didn’t Read
The vets had been blunt — his blood results weren’t good. His bone marrow wasn’t forming new red blood cells, and the general expectation was that we might have a day, maybe two. We quietly agreed: when Fred stopped eating, we’d know it was time.
But Fred clearly hadn’t read those rules.
Each day, he surprised us. Colour crept back into his gums, his eyes brightened, and his little body filled out. He gained one and a half kilos. He became cheeky and demanding in that gentle, old-soul way — the kind that makes you smile no matter what’s going on.
When his repeat bloodwork came back, his haematocrit count had dropped even lower — 14, when 15 meant transfusion. Yet there he was, looking perfectly content, refusing tap water and demanding it straight from the water cooler in the reception area like royalty.
Fred had a swagger about him. If he stumbled, he’d immediately correct himself, then glance up as if to say, “Did you see that? Still got it.”
He knew exactly what he wanted and when. One day, I offered him a piece of vienna sausage — just a piece, not the whole thing. He spat it out, gave me a look that said everything, and I swear it translated to: “Don’t do that again. I want to bite off my own piece" Another day, a freshly roasted chicken arrived. It had to be served warm and juicy — tomorrow morning, the breast would be too dry.

​The Last Night
At around two in the morning on Friday, 24 October 2025, Fred made a soft cry — his first ever. I turned on the light and saw that his back legs were struggling. He wanted to get onto the bed, and of course, with a gentle lift, he did.
He didn’t want the light off, so we lay there in the soft glow, watching each other. Eventually, he curled against me — his head resting on my arm — and we fell asleep like that.
When the morning light crept in, he nuzzled my chin. His front legs were weaker now, and I could feel that gentle shift — the one that says, it’s nearly time.
Back on the bed, the others gathered close. Ariel in particular pressed herself to his side, refusing to move. I sent a message to the group saying I thought it might be time and waited for the vet to open.
As we lay there, almost dozing, I felt Fred exhale — a deep, peaceful sigh. I looked at him just as his head tilted slightly, and he breathed out one last time. He didn’t breathe in again.
Quiet. Gentle. Peaceful.
Just like him.
The others stayed pressed around him, holding that sacred stillness.
And we all just… were.

​The Lesson Fred Left Behind
Fred was a gentle teacher. They all are. But there was something about him — maybe his quiet rebellion against every prognosis, maybe the way he chose presence over panic — that left an imprint here that won’t fade.
He reminded me that sometimes, the rules don’t matter. Sometimes, you just decide to live — and that decision becomes its own kind of healing.

Thank you to BRAG for trusting us, always, with these beautiful souls.

And to Fred — the Beagle who didn’t read the rules — you are part of us, forever and always.

When Ariel left us in early December, just one day short of one month after her sixteenth birthday, it wasn’t only grief that arrived. It was reflection — a gathering together of everything this year, and the years before it, had been quietly teaching us.

​Ariel had shared just short of eleven years of her life with us. She was the matriarch. The supreme supervisor. The quiet authority who knew exactly what was happening at all times. She was also my co-driver — accompanying me to vet appointments, treatments, difficult conversations, final goodbyes, and gentle welcomes.
She was there as we supported over six fosters who came to us for their final chapter. She held steady as we said goodbye to our five boys in as many years. She bore witness to love, illness, courage, and release — again and again.
Her passing was sudden.
She was okay at 5am.
By 5:30, she wasn’t.
By 5pm, we knew.
The more we speak about it, the clearer it becomes: she was ready.
​
She waited for David — her dad — to come home. Spent a month with him, fully present. And then, quietly, with dignity, she bowed out. Ready to join “her boys” on the other side.
What followed wasn’t just sorrow. It was an overwhelming sense of love and surety — a deep knowing that these small bodies carry souls of immense wisdom. That they come here not only to be loved by us, but to teach us in ways we barely grasp while we are still living inside the relationship.

I remember feeling very small in that moment — not diminished, but awed. It was a familiar knowing, one that has accompanied many goodbyes before, yet this time it arrived with such weight and clarity that it felt like the right moment to finally give voice to what we’ve been learning all along.

​There is a difference between fear and knowing.
When you know — truly know — that it is not time yet, there is a calm beneath the doubt. Even when uncertainty arises (often shaped by past trauma or earlier experiences), there is a steadiness that remains. A clarity that allows you to hear your own inner truth above the noise of opinions, protocols, and well-meant advice.
It is an ability to feel calm in chaos.
To make decisions one moment at a time.
To stay present rather than panicked.
This is not about denial.
And it is not about holding on because saying goodbye feels unbearable.
It is about something much quieter — and much more selfless.
It is about staying strong enough to support them until they are ready.
Not until we are.
And this is where care is needed.
This is not judgement for those who are emotional. Grief is love, and love hurts. This is not a prescription or a challenge to push limits. It is a gentle validation for those who feel judged — by vets, by family, by friends — and find that judgement creating doubt where clarity once lived.
Trusting your knowing is not opposition.
It is responsibility.

​Being there at the end has taught us that death can be beautiful.
Not painless.
Not easy.
But beautiful.
It is the final act of service we give them.
They give us everything — loyalty, presence, humour, grounding, unconditional companionship. The least we can do is honour the end of their physical journey by meeting it with calm, love, and words that match that energy.
Death is not the end of a soul journey.
It is the completion of a physical one.
And when we allow ourselves to see it this way, something softens. Sadness does not disappear — but it loosens its grip. Not because we loved less, but because we understand more.
Each being who walks this path with us leaves us wiser. Clearer. More tender. More capable of holding love and loss at the same time.

​This is for the person about to make the decision.
For the one who has just said goodbye.
For the one who is terrified of the moment they know is coming.
For the one who feels peace alongside grief and doesn’t know if that’s allowed.
You are not cold.
You are not heartless.
You are not alone.
You are being asked to do something sacred.
And if you choose to step into it — fully, lovingly, selflessly — know this:
Being there at the end is not something to fear.
It is one of the greatest privileges love will ever offer you.

**(though we still hold space of hope and love that a home will open their hearts to them Please contact BRAG ay bragbeagles@gmail.com if adopting a senior calls to you). ​

Beagles remind us to slow down and enjoy life’s little pleasures, from their enthusiastic sniffing expeditions to their spontaneous playfulness. These moments are the heart of a life well-lived.

Ben’s (not real name) Beagle, Rosie, turned his ordinary mornings into something special. Every day, Rosie would follow Ben around as he made coffee, nudging him with her nose for affection. Those small moments became a cherished routine, reminding Ben that happiness is found in life’s simplest joys.

Life with a Beagle is full of simple luxuries that money can’t buy. Embrace the joy they bring to your everyday routine and celebrate the bond you share.

What’s your favourite everyday moment with your Beagle? Let us know in the comments!

Every Beagle parent remembers their first experience trimming nails, introducing their pup to a new activity, or starting obedience training. These moments might feel overwhelming, but they are stepping stones to growth and understanding.

Mia (not real name) adopted her Beagle, Ollie, with zero experience in dog training (and Beagles!). Their first obedience class was nerve-wracking, with Ollie howling his way through. But by the end of the course, Mia and Ollie had learned not just the basics but also how to communicate better as a team. That scary first step led to a lifetime of adventures.

The first step is always the hardest, but it’s also the most rewarding. With trust and patience, you and your Beagle can conquer any challenge and create unforgettable memories along the way.

What’s a “first” you’ve tackled with your Beagle? Share your story in the comments!

Each challenge with your Beagle is an opportunity to learn and grow together. Celebrate every victory, no matter how small.

Emily’s (not real name) Beagle, Finn, had a habit of barking at delivery drivers. Through consistent training and treats, Finn now greets the them calmly—and even wags his tail. Each solved problem brought them closer.

Every solved problem is a step toward a stronger bond with your Beagle. Celebrate the journey and enjoy the wins along the way.

What’s a Beagle challenge you’ve overcome? Share your success story!

Beagles show us how small gestures—like cuddles or playful antics—can brighten someone’s day. Their gentle presence makes a big difference in our lives and in those they meet.

When Olivia’s (not real name) Beagle, Scout, visited a local nursing home, his wagging tail and friendly demeanor brought smiles to everyone he met. Scout’s gentle love made a lasting impression on the residents, showing how Beagles can shake the world in their own way.

Your Beagle’s gentle spirit has the power to change the world—one wag, cuddle, or playful moment at a time. Celebrate their kindness and let it shine.

How has your Beagle’s gentle love made a difference? Share your story!

Itchiness, also known as pruritus, can stem from a variety of factors. Let’s break down the most common causes:
1. Environmental AllergiesBeagles, like many dogs, are prone to seasonal and environmental allergies triggered by:

• Pollen
  
• Mold
  
• Dust mites
  
• Grass or weeds
  

Signs of environmental allergies include:

• Red, inflamed skin
  
• Frequent scratching
  
• Chewing or licking paws
  
• Watery eyes or sneezing
  

2. Food Allergies or SensitivitiesCertain ingredients in your Beagle’s diet may cause itching. Common culprits include:

• Proteins (e.g., beef, chicken, or lamb)
  
• Grains like wheat or soy
  
• Artificial additives and preservatives
  

Food-related itching often appears as:

• Chronic ear infections
  
• Gastrointestinal upset (vomiting or diarrhea)
  
• Red, irritated skin, particularly around the ears and paws
  

3. ParasitesParasites like fleas, ticks, and mites are a frequent cause of itching. Flea allergies are especially common, as dogs can react to flea saliva.
Signs of parasitic issues include:

• Small red bumps on the skin
  
• Excessive scratching or biting at the tail base
  
• Hair loss in affected areas
  

4. Dry SkinLow humidity, harsh shampoos, or poor diet can lead to dry, flaky skin, which often results in itching.
5. InfectionsBacterial or fungal infections, including yeast infections, can cause localized or widespread itching. Look for signs such as:

• Redness
  
• Odor
  
• Oozing or crusty skin lesions
  

6. Stress or AnxietyBehavioural issues can also lead to compulsive scratching or licking, often as a way to self-soothe during periods of stress or boredom.

Identifying the root of your Beagle’s itchiness often requires a multi-step approach. Always consult your veterinarian for a proper diagnosis, which may include:
1. Allergy Testing

• Intradermal Skin Testing: Identifies environmental allergens.
  
• Blood Tests: Measures allergic responses to various triggers.
  

2. Food TrialsAn elimination diet can pinpoint food sensitivities. This involves feeding your dog a limited-ingredient or hypoallergenic diet for 8–12 weeks and monitoring for improvements.
3. Parasite ScreeningsYour vet may check for fleas, ticks, and mites using a skin scrape or combing.
4. Skin Biopsy or CytologyThese tests identify bacterial or fungal infections and can help rule out autoimmune conditions.

Once the cause of your Beagle’s itching is identified, treatment can begin. Here are some common solutions:
1. For Environmental Allergies

• Bathing: Use hypoallergenic or medicated shampoos to remove allergens and soothe inflamed skin. Oatmeal-based shampoos can be especially calming.
  
• Antihistamines: Vet-approved medications can reduce allergic reactions.
  
• Air Purifiers: Help minimise indoor allergens like dust and mold.
  

2. For Food Allergies

• Switch Diets: Transition to a grain-free or limited-ingredient diet. Opt for novel proteins (e.g., duck, venison) if your dog has reacted to common proteins.
  
• Omega-3 Fatty Acids: These supplements reduce inflammation and promote healthy skin.
  

3. For Parasites

• Flea and Tick Preventatives: Use vet-recommended topical or oral treatments.
  
• Natural Alternatives: Diatomaceous earth or essential oil sprays can repel pests (ensure they are safe for dogs).
  

4. For Dry Skin

• Humidifiers: Maintain adequate moisture levels in your home.
  
• Coconut Oil: Apply a small amount to dry patches or mix into their food for a boost of hydration.
  

5. For Infections

• Medicated Shampoos: Fungal or bacterial infections often require specialized treatments prescribed by your vet.
  
• Probiotics: Support your dog’s immune system to prevent recurring infections.
  

6. For Stress or Anxiety

• Interactive Toys: Keep your Beagle mentally stimulated to prevent boredom.
  
• Calming Aids: Consider pheromone diffusers, anxiety wraps, or natural supplements like chamomile
  

Please see here for posts about Kinesiology & allergies in your Beagle

If your Beagle’s itching is persistent, severe, or accompanied by other symptoms like hair loss, open sores, or behavioural changes, consult your veterinarian immediately. It’s always better to err on the side of caution, as untreated itching can lead to infections or more serious issues.

An itchy Beagle is an uncomfortable Beagle, but with the right approach, you can identify the cause and find effective relief. Remember, every dog is unique, and what works for one may not work for another. Always tailor treatments to your Beagle’s specific needs and consult with your vet for the best results.

Have you dealt with an itchy Beagle? Share your experiences and tips for soothing their skin in the comments below!

Beagles thrive on love and attention. Going above and beyond—whether through training, play, or care—helps deepen your bond and keeps them healthy and happy.

Jake’s (not real name) Beagle, Bella, was initially shy around other dogs. By spending extra time (supervised) socialising her with other dogs, Jake saw Bella transform into a confident, playful pup who now has a pack of furry friends.

The extra mile is where the magic happens. Take it with your Beagle and create moments that both of you will treasure forever.

How do you go the extra mile for your Beagle? Share your ideas in the comments!