Heather’s friends Brian and Maureen visited last week, stopping for a night on the long road back from Houston (where they bought a new car) to Osgoode, Ont. (that’s near Ottawa, for my Yankee readers). Yes, I barked at them a few times when they first came inside the house, but I quickly decided that they were OK, so I sat in my red chair next to the table while they ate. They thought I was OK, too, and they agreed to pose for a photo before hightailing it for the border.
Their visit would have been the highlight of the week, except that a few days later I found a couple of mice while walking in the park. And scarfed them up, of course. It’s just what I do.
The first one was on the ground right in front of us in the middle of the trail, and it was already dead. I wasn’t that smitten with it, so I gave it up to Mike easily. He was so happy that he gave me several Charlee Bears.
The next one I tracked down and pounced upon all by myself. I clenched it tightly between my teeth and ran, and there was no way I was about to give this one up so easily. Mike was just lucky that Heather happened to be there. She pried my mouth open while Mike reached down my throat, yanked out Mr. Mouse and flung it away. Mike knew I’d be back after it next time we were in the vicinity, of course, so I saw him go back and pick it up with a plastic bag like poop and throw it in the trash bin on the way home. Rats! No, mice–but you get my gist.
I know it was just my badger-dog instinct kicking in, but killing that mouse made me sad and sorrowful for a while. That must explain my first gray hair. Yikes, 14 months old and already going gray. It’s on my back, between my shoulder blades. I can’t actually see it, at least not without a mirror or two. But Mike can see it, and ever since he brought it to my attention I’ve been obsessing about it. Not that I’m vain or anything. Not me!
On the other hand, maybe I should get Mike to pluck it out with tweezers. It shouldn’t hurt too much.