Every joint in his body could flex normally and to the inverse, giving his raggedy greetings an especially exuberant feel. As a pup, this special quality aided his ability to go wherever his powerful nose led him - under the wood stove where chilled bones could be quickly warmed, over the sides of the whelping box or the makeshift fence erected to restrain curious beagle boys and through unsealed vents that, as yet, nothing had been able to enter.
This special trait provided hours of entertainment for them, as well as us. Like little boys with prolific imaginations, the pups would play games endlessly, until their bellies, parents or owners created a distraction. The game most appealing to the beagle boys was called Bunny Hunting. The object: to get the bunny. There was always one bunny and from two to five hunters, though their papa, Mr. Puppy, would rarely play.
Slaphammer, whose name describes his nursing method, invariably played the bunny. Quicker than the others, he could lead them on a trail throughout the house not unlike a wooded rabbit trail. He took them over, under and through the many obstacles that made up our home, occasionally getting cornered.
Their hunting voices developed through these games; their skill at cornering and subduing the quarry improved with each running. One other important element was established: their order and responsibilities in the pack.
Though most often filling the role of the hunted, Slaphammer proved an outstanding tracker, capable of thinking and moving like the quarry he imitated.
