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Living with dogs
May. 16th, 2021 08:47 pmAfter last night's possum adventure, I concluded that living with dogs turns your life into a weird comedy.
Dog decides she wants to go out after bedtime. I let her out. Shortly thereafter, I hear enraged barking right out back, so I go to look. Elsa (my dog) has treed a baby possum in the bird feeder, and is trying to leap up and get it. She can't quite reach it--YET--but she managed to tear off the bottom of the bird feeder (it was old and getting a bit fragile). The poor possum is clinging to the top half of the feeder, paralyzed/"playing possum".
Since I didn't really want to watch an opossum being torn to shreds in front of my eyes, I restrained Elsa and wrestled her back indoors. "Wrestled" being the operative word; she really didn't want to let that possum get away.
A bit later, she got me up again, insisted she really, really had to go out. I shined my flashlight out the backdoor. Possum was still there; it had climbed to the top of the hangar for the bird feeder. Told Elsa "nope", and went back to bed.
Some hours later, Elsa got me up again, assuring me that she really had to go out, honest! I checked with the flashlight; no possum. Elsa ran for the bird feeder at high speed, and stopped short, realizing there was no possum there. She cocked her head, and looked around, and sniffed the ground, as if to say "There's supposed to be a possum here. Where is my possum?" She eventually gave up and came in, disappointed.
The very next night, Elsa got me up to go out, bolted for the wooded area at the back of the yard, and then came back to the door and tapped on it as if to come in. When I opened the door, she dropped a stunned mouse at my feet.
Life with dogs is weird comedy.
Dog decides she wants to go out after bedtime. I let her out. Shortly thereafter, I hear enraged barking right out back, so I go to look. Elsa (my dog) has treed a baby possum in the bird feeder, and is trying to leap up and get it. She can't quite reach it--YET--but she managed to tear off the bottom of the bird feeder (it was old and getting a bit fragile). The poor possum is clinging to the top half of the feeder, paralyzed/"playing possum".
Since I didn't really want to watch an opossum being torn to shreds in front of my eyes, I restrained Elsa and wrestled her back indoors. "Wrestled" being the operative word; she really didn't want to let that possum get away.
A bit later, she got me up again, insisted she really, really had to go out. I shined my flashlight out the backdoor. Possum was still there; it had climbed to the top of the hangar for the bird feeder. Told Elsa "nope", and went back to bed.
Some hours later, Elsa got me up again, assuring me that she really had to go out, honest! I checked with the flashlight; no possum. Elsa ran for the bird feeder at high speed, and stopped short, realizing there was no possum there. She cocked her head, and looked around, and sniffed the ground, as if to say "There's supposed to be a possum here. Where is my possum?" She eventually gave up and came in, disappointed.
The very next night, Elsa got me up to go out, bolted for the wooded area at the back of the yard, and then came back to the door and tapped on it as if to come in. When I opened the door, she dropped a stunned mouse at my feet.
Life with dogs is weird comedy.
