Sally's squirrel
Just a brief story with no photo. (you'll thank me, believe me.)
Friday evening, I'm making dinner and the dogs are out in our yard. Harry comes rushing to the back door and from his behavior, I sense something is amiss. I leave him in the house, rush out to our big, overgrown backyard and call for Sally. No answer. I start getting nervous. Then I see that the dogs have somehow pushed over part of the fence to the carport that blocks off access to our busy street. There is a Sally sized hole in the fence. I am worried, and calling for Sally. Barely a moment passes.
Sally trots up when my back is turned. In her mouth is a very dead, desiccated, flat as a board squirrel. She is standing on the back porch of the house. While I yell "NO!! NO!!" and flail my arms, trying not to uhh, vomit, Sally carefully lays the squirrel down on the welcome mat; an offering to her human. She cooperatively goes inside the house. Later, she tries to appease me in other ways all evening. Yuchhhk!!! Squirrel breath!!
I step over squirrel, lock the back door with the dogs inside, and call the professor. He has to fix the fence, bury the squirrel, and make this seem humorous. A tall job, but he manages it! He points out that Sally brought me the most tasty thing she could think of! She'd scouted out the squirrel on our walks (3 doors down from our house) and waited several days until it was properly aged. She came when called, AND brought a squirrel treat. What else could I want?
Well, uhh, I'll think on that after I've stopped feeling sick to my stomach. Good thing the professor knows how to think like a dog. Somebody's got to be on Sally's side. It wasn't Harry. From a dog's point of view, he "told" on her. She growled at him for an hour in retaliation. Everyone is friends again now.
Poor squirrel though.
Definitely dead. At least we gave him a decent burial.
Friday evening, I'm making dinner and the dogs are out in our yard. Harry comes rushing to the back door and from his behavior, I sense something is amiss. I leave him in the house, rush out to our big, overgrown backyard and call for Sally. No answer. I start getting nervous. Then I see that the dogs have somehow pushed over part of the fence to the carport that blocks off access to our busy street. There is a Sally sized hole in the fence. I am worried, and calling for Sally. Barely a moment passes.
Sally trots up when my back is turned. In her mouth is a very dead, desiccated, flat as a board squirrel. She is standing on the back porch of the house. While I yell "NO!! NO!!" and flail my arms, trying not to uhh, vomit, Sally carefully lays the squirrel down on the welcome mat; an offering to her human. She cooperatively goes inside the house. Later, she tries to appease me in other ways all evening. Yuchhhk!!! Squirrel breath!!
I step over squirrel, lock the back door with the dogs inside, and call the professor. He has to fix the fence, bury the squirrel, and make this seem humorous. A tall job, but he manages it! He points out that Sally brought me the most tasty thing she could think of! She'd scouted out the squirrel on our walks (3 doors down from our house) and waited several days until it was properly aged. She came when called, AND brought a squirrel treat. What else could I want?
Well, uhh, I'll think on that after I've stopped feeling sick to my stomach. Good thing the professor knows how to think like a dog. Somebody's got to be on Sally's side. It wasn't Harry. From a dog's point of view, he "told" on her. She growled at him for an hour in retaliation. Everyone is friends again now.
Poor squirrel though.
Definitely dead. At least we gave him a decent burial.
posted by Joanne at 8:35 AM
5 Comments:
There are worse things than squirrel breath, you know. Far worse. And sometimes they roll in them to bring even more back home to share.
[shuddering at a particular memory]
Snork!
I have to agree with sarah, the rolling would have been worse than squirrel breath. Poor misunderstood Sally;-)
Elizabeth
With my own canine stretched out on the floor right behind my chair as I type this, and smelling distinctly as if he just rolled in something hideous while out for his walk, I can relate...
Bwaha I certainly don't think like a dog so I'm glad someone does for the sake of poor Sally! I tend to think more like a cat.
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