My English bulldogs, Boz and Gracie play leading roles in my daily life. Whether begging, farting, drooling, eating, pining, playing or napping, their antics are always nearby if not underfoot. So when none of the aforementioned distractions were within earshot or viewpoint, I began to worry. I called. I whistled (well, attempted to whistle). I trudged upstairs, steamed downstairs. I feverishly cased the joint and the grounds for my favorite furballs. Just as I began to furrow my brow in worry and send out a search party, I could see movement in the front field, a swaying of the pole bean trellis. The tall maple whips gently quivered, shaking the attached pole bean pods like delicate pinatas. When I headed down there for a closer inspection, this is what I saw.