Sir Beaumont, Master of The T-Bone

Hear ye, hear ye, gather around to hear the tale of Sir Beaumont of Sheepadoodle, a noble knight born into the whimsical fur of a Sheepadoodle, and his quest for the holy grail of meats, the T-Bone steak—a feast not provided by his most negligent hooman, Louise, but rather mysteriously bestowed by the cosmic courier service known as The Universe (delivered by a mysterious stranger, courtesy of a fan named Rod methinks).

And thus our saga unfolds…

In the land of perpetual ball-fetching and bed-sharing, Sir Beaumont has continuously, and oh so patiently, attempted to educate his hooman, Louise, on the noble arts of proper ball trajectory and equitable bed occupancy. Alas, Louise’s learning curve has been unerringly flatter than a pancake squashed by a steamroller. Fetching was futile; her throws wilder than a witch’s cackle, and bed-sharing—oh the humanity!—Louise believed herself the sovereign of the mattress, relegating Sir Beaumont nightly to the cold, hard floor. The sheer indignity!

Yet, our gallant Sir Beaumont, ever so patient and magnanimous (and did I mention breathtakingly handsome?), endured these trials with the grace of a saint with a wagging tail.

For years, his devoted fans pleaded, “Give the majestic dawg his T-Bone!” But Louise, ears apparently stuffed with the wax of stubbornness, ignored their cries. Her excuses? “Too lavish,” she’d declare, or “Unsuitable for his digestion!” (Pish posh!)

The situation took a turn for the serendipitous on the nightof the Aurora Borealis Sightings, an auspicious occassion indeed. As the stars twinkled in secret glee, and the sky danced with wondrous light, a mysterious stranger approached the humble abode of Sir Beaumont. “A gift for Louise,” he proclaimed, handing over a parcel as if relinquishing Excalibur itself, before vanishing into the night on his noble steed (which suspiciously resembled a rusty bicycle or perhaps a pick-up truck or some such modern vehicle of co-motion).

Louise, meanwhile, was frolicking in the city, leaving Sir Beaumont and his beleaguered hooman-brother, C.C., to fend for themselves. Poor C.C., brains addled by a concussion (thanks to Louise’s negligence I do swear!), unknowingly stashed the heavenly T-Bone in the fridge.

Upon her return, instead of cooking a feast fit for her loyal companions, Louise ordered Chinese takeout and invited the scandalous wench-dawgs, Wilma and Martha, and their hoomans, over for a soirée. The audacity! Sir Beaumont and wench-dawgs were left to salivate over mere scraps, their noble stomachs growling like the dragons of old.

Dawn crept over the horizon, and only then did Louise—oh scatterbrained wench—discover the parcel. Upon learning its provenance, she had the gall to laugh! Yes, laugh! (Imagine the bray of a donkey—offensive to both ear and sensibility.)

“Send it back!” she declared. Oh, the tyranny!

But fear not, dear loyal followers of Sir Beaumont, for C.C., once enlightened by the tale of Rod and his T-Bone gift, championed our furry hero’s cause. Despite Louise’s protests, he declared the steak must be served—to the dawg, not cooked into oblivion!

As night descends and the steak sits perilously on the counter, the fate of the T-Bone hangs in the balance. Will Louise succumb to her basest instincts and pilfer the steak for herself? Or will Sir Beaumont finally savour the succulent joy of his well-earned reward?

Light thy candles, send thy blessings, for the steak saga continues. Stay tuned, dear fans, and pray—pray Louise finds her senses (however few remain) and grants Sir Beaumont his rightful feast.

Thus concludes today’s episode in the ongoing chronicles of Sir Beaumont of Sheepadoodle—knight, scholar, and unrecognized Master of the T-Bone.