Imagine this: you've got the All Star Game on the tube as you're talking to a credit card company about adding a name to an account. You're puzzling with various identification numbers and fumbling with papers. As you're doing this, you happen to look out the door, and there, smiling gloriously, is your fourteen-year-old bird dog with a pigeon in her mouth. What do you do?
As far as we can remember this is the first bird she's ever caught and killed; she's gotten a few rats and, dreadfully, a couple of kittens, but no birds. And she's a pointer.
She was quite pleased with herself. Me, not so much. I had to persuade her to drop it outside, find a plastic glove and bag, and gather up the remains to be tossed into the trash bin.
Ah well. It's hard to begrudge a dog this old some lingering tastes of glory.Posted by Linkmeister at July 10, 2007 04:51 PM | TrackBack