Irony with Feathers aka Baby Bird Breath

It's been exactly six months since we packed up the animals at Bluebird Hollow and moved to the Black Squirrel Ranch. If you'll recall at Bluebird Hollow the white Husky was making his way through the country one live (or dead) mouthful at a time. He was catching mice by the dozen, snakes, roadkill, baby birds hiding in the ditches, and anything he could lick off the ground. It was disgusting; I had to convince myself that the sound of bones crunching at the other end of the leash was just a snack stop involving a bag of pretzels.

This time, I wasn't even walking Gunnar: I as letting them into the fenced area in front of the house after their breakfast! Per the pet sitter, while we were gone, G-man had diarrhea; when we got home, Lily started up a little bit. Therefore, we were feeding those two kids chicken and rice and pumpkin puree--very gourmet. Instead of the usual dry kibble, they were getting food that most human kids don't ever eat in third world countries. (I have to confess: I was hungry this morning--still am--and when I gave Lily and Gunnar their portion, I grabbed the dog spoon and started eating the leftover rice...what have I become?)

Sitting outside with them, I watched Wulf bark at every bird that got near their fence and he became interested in some chirping above our heads on the deck. Thinking the birds would fly away if I stood up, I walked forward so that they would see me. This did cause a frenzy of chirping and fluttering birds, but unfortunately I think it caused a baby bird to prematurely jump out of his nest while prepping for a flight lesson.

All of the Littles and Gunnar chased the birds around--though the birds are all completely out of reach: with the exception of one little one that landed on the ground. I thought he had flown or stumbled to safety because all dogs went a different direction; and, when I went to see if he was still in the middle of the dog yard, I didn't see anything...until Gunnar came back to that spot, picked something off the ground, and started swishing his tail like a Cheshire cat.

I know that swish. That means he has something delicious in his mouth that did not originate from his food bowl. And I beg to differ that it really is "delicious." I knew, then, that the baby bird had not escaped to safety and was now resting in the Husky's mouth. This is the first live kill at the Black Squirrel Ranch for Gunnar! Six months! Whew. Well, that's what becoming a house dog does to you: no moles crawling through the kennel at night; no mice running through the barn to snack on.

On a slightly happier note:
Gunnar is famous! I was notified by email while we were on our Arizona trip that Gunnar--whose mother had entered him into a smiling dog photo parade--was going to be one of the canines showcased in The Bark magazine's online-zine for May 28th! You can go to the link below and click the arrows until you see G'man's face; or, check it out here in the photo. We are so proud, but I'm still not kissing him today after seeing what he did to that bird!

http://www.thebark.com/content/weekly-smilers-5-28-12