Thinking it was cat poop (nectar of the gods), I tried to pull them away, but then I saw something scurry through the grass. I couldn't tell what it was -- gecko? snake? enormous Texas-sized cockroach? So I let them do their doggy thing and continue with the pursuit. Sniff, sniff, yip, scurry. Jump, pounce, scurry. Oh, it's a mouse or a baby rat. Hmmm. Now I have a mammalian dilemma. I'm a mammal too, so I kind of feel a connection to the rodent. But I don't want it in my house. Katy catches the mouse. Good. She'll give it one hard, quick terrier shake, and then it will be over.
Nope. She flung it in the air, and it screamed on the way down. Pounce, snatch. She had it again. Fling, scurry. This time Buster caught it. I'm started to feel horrified, but I can't figure out what to do. I'm rooting for quick death. Buster had caught and killed a rat once before. Buster flings it this time, and it screams again. Now I'm waiting for the pedophile across the street to call the police because my rat is screaming too loudly.
It's scurrying for its life, squealing like it's scared half to death (duh), and the dogs won't kill it. They want to play with it instead. AAaaah. Luckily, I had a shovel nearby (I always keep one handy). So I found the soaking wet mouse/rat in the grass and was relieved to see that it had finally died, probably from a heart attack.
But no! It rallies! So I did the quick-shovel-death thing while Buster and Katy looked on, fascinated.
After it was dead, they kind of wanted to play tug-of-war with it, but that was a little too much for me. I gave it a decent burial in a Target bag placed gently in the trash can.0 comments so far