Only on Hilton Head: Sam the Beach Beagle makes the rounds at Sea Pines caddy shack

As Thanksgiving reminds me to be grateful for grand blessings, waking up on Hilton Head Island with a beagle that needs to chase squirrels around a golf course to start his day reminds me daily of how fortunate I am.

And if I forget on those mornings when the weather isn't perfect -- a rarity here -- then the guys at the Sea Pines Country Club Golf Course remind me when Sam and I go for our morning Calibogue Marsh border patrol shift.

If you remember the Looney Tunes characters Sam the Sheepdog and Ralph the Wolf punching time clocks on a tree as they begin their workdays chasing each other around the fields, you may get an idea of how Sam and I start our days.

Encouragement in the form of "Attaboy, Sam!" from the bag boys who check in the golfers at the Club Course caddy shack gives us a charge of adrenaline as we start our tour of the compound perimeter (aka, the clubhouse buildings, swimming pool, tennis courts and driving range).

Sam pulls me up the walkway at where's-the-fire speed, nearly toppling over delivery people trying to relay food orders from trucks to kitchen. Sorry, folks, a squirrel needs treeing, and we can't slow down.

Up past the main entrance, down past the kitchen, snorting and sniffing (Sam actually, snorts and sniffs. I mainly huff and puff, trying not to trip over the leash), I wave at everyone starting their day, while Sam stops -- on a dime -- to re-sniff a spot where a squirrel once dug an acorn. OK, no visible signs of said squirrel, but just in case, we have to make sure we have sussed out the whole area to prevent any future acorn reconnaissance efforts on the part of our wily enemies -- the squirrels.

Everyone appears to be laughing really hard at us. Or is that an expression of alarm as they scramble out of the way? I can't tell; it all goes by in such a blur.

Rounding the far side of the indoor swimming pool boundary -- its quite the finish line as any squirrels that were dashing around the clubhouse eaves have fled like lemmings to this end of the building -- Sam is barking, sounding like a pack of hounds on the hunt through the English moors.

One little beagle mix can wake up the entire Club Course neighborhood at the mere sound of a rustling leaf, where a squirrel has possibly scampered within the past 37 hours. Yes, we are proud of the ancestral blood flowing through his little flecked legs, and his twitching snout. The Hound of the Baskervilles has got nothing on Sam the Beach Beagle when it comes to snorting out criminal, Genus Sciurus behavior (aka, tree squirrels living large and unsupervised on Hilton Head Island).

Having scared them into the nearby trees, Sam will jump proudly onto his hind, kangaroo-like legs with forepaws up the trunk and look at me as only a mixed-blood descendant of the Walker tree hound/beagle pedigree can look, and if I don't yell "Good boy, Sam!" and pat him with all the gusto of a DEA officer praising his German shepherd for discovering a tanker full of illegal arms and narcotics, Sam will never get down. Ever.

Making a big deal out of this, pumping my fist, yelling, "Yea, Sam! You rock, Sam! Woot-woot!" onlookers wonder, I'm sure, if I have been nipping at the jug early in the a.m.

This spectacle ends after 43 minutes, and we are on our way round the ninth green, where putters glare from behind visors and sunglasses, and I wave, head turned down, thanking them for understanding.

But, no, we're not through.

Now, it's time for the reward, and by this point -- if I haven't skinned my knees on the cart path or fallen into a bunker with a heart attack -- we are at Steve Mihalek's maintenance shed. Steve, bless his heart, gives a "woot-woot!" just to humor Sam. If you're not participating in this scene, you might as well not exist, as far as Sam is concerned. Steve, driving-range manager at the Sea Pines Country Club, gamefully produces a dog biscuit the size of Rhode Island, and Sam chows down, while Steve scratches behind his ears.

A few pets and "attaboy's" later, we begin our trudge home, proudly strutting past dumbfounded members who came out to practice their drives in relative quiet. Sam, head high, ears forward, alert to any sound of scurrying, remains always on the lookout for another treat.

As we continue homeward, we make one last detour, pausing at the caddy shack, where someone might still have a scrap for my ferocious hunter, or at the very least, another head-pat. And just as in the Sam and Ralph Looney Tunes cartoons, we clock out at the tree and head home for the day.

Yes, I am so grateful to live where I live, and as a footnote, I might also add that it is a pleasure to write this just in time before Steve Mihalek retires from the Sea Pines Country Club. Enjoy this next chapter in your life, Steve, and to the rest of you guys, I'll be seeing you at the start of our next shift.

"Woot-woot!"

Carmen Hawkins De Cecco lives on Hilton Head Island. She blogs at hiltonheadblogangel.me.

This story was originally published November 28, 2015 at 7:37 PM with the headline "Only on Hilton Head: Sam the Beach Beagle makes the rounds at Sea Pines caddy shack."