Do Dog, Volume 2: Please Don't, Dog!
(For those who are wondering: I went to the doctor's office today and am still off work. I see the doctor again in about two weeks and will know more then. The days are quiet, peaceful, and restful and I'm enjoying my time immensely.)
Tracker now looks like a dog. First, he looked like a puppy; cute, fuzzy, hardly any nose, this thin rat tail... Then, he looked like a coyote; cute, lanky, all legs, still with this thin rat tail. Now, he's looking like he should; cute, furry, great nose, furry, wonderful fur fan tail, furry... you get the picture.
I think Tracker has surgery sympathy for me. One of his toys was a tennis ball with the head and legs of a frog. (The head squeaks when you squeeze it, which I'm sure has a moral of some kind.) That frog is now resting on my kitchen counter, awaiting retirement. Our illustrious Tracker prepped the frog for surgery: There's a neatly shaved space on the tennis ball which is in the identical place it would be if that frog were having my procedure. I want Harry to see it before I toss the frog.
So you see, Tracker is cute. He's got this habit, though, that we can't seem to break him from doing. He brings us dead animals. Or sometimes, which is worse, parts of dead animals.
One day, half a dead rat.
Then, a sparrow's wing.
Another day, part of a dead mouse.
Once, some unrecognizable bit of something that was once living. (It had feathers.)
Today, a dead starling. Yes, the whole bird. Dangling by one outstretched wing from the dog's mouth as he pranced triumphantly back into the house after his 5:30 a.m. potty break.
Ewwwwww. I doubt the dog is killing these things himself; this morning he was only out for maybe 30 seconds.
How is it I can have a cat who brings me no animal parts and a dog who brings me every imaginable kind?
Copyright 2013 Michelle Hakala