RiverPark Bright Boy

A U T O B I O G R A P H I C A L  Y     S P E A K I NG    By Ch Riverpark Bright Boy

CAN you imagine a down-to-earth, regular democratic Beagle like me going through life with a moniker like Riverpark Bright Boy? I should say not. Oscur is good enough. Of course when they start calling me Little Oscur, I rebel. I’m not so little, fourteen and a half inches at the shoulder, and that’s not stretching a bit. Why, there are some guys that never did grow up and are only nine or ten inches tall. I have heard it rumored that they are the small classification of Beagles, but to me they still look like midgets.

I won’t even go for a gal that’s less than thirteen inches. No, I take it back, I did go for an eleven inch variety once, but she was some class—finished her championship in three shows. Not that I am any laggard! I have done my share of winning too, having won a number of Hound groups, and I am still a young guy, only two and a half years old.

Now they are all raving about my daughter, Ch. Smarty O’Meeker. I call her Smarty Pants when I want to get her good and mad. She isn’t a bad kid though, only a year and a half old and already has won five or six Best of Breeds and several Hound groups, the most recent being at the Salinas show. Takes after her old man, except she doesn’t have any D. A. (dog appeal).

Ch. Meeker’s Diana left, and the author, Ch. Riverpark Bright Boy.

Another member of the family