There’s a saying. Every dog has his day. Today was Oliver’s day. At 4:30 p.m. He was just outside the back door, tethered to my wife, as always, when a stupid, stupid chipmunk made its last bad decision. According to the report it darted right in front of The Dogmatic One, who snatched it and dispatched it with all necessary speed. Apparently the entourage was just on the way back in from some other mission when Oliver attritted the enemy. He was ordered to drop the enemy corpse and get inside the house. When I arrived home from work an hour later he was in a real state. He was in a full-blown dissociative fugue of Victory! Over! The! Rodent! He was staring the thousand-yard stare.
He’s had a lot of stress lately. Yesterday, in the middle of the afternoon (approximately 1530 hours), my wife and Oliver spotted a fox in the back yard. She got a pretty nice picture of it. (She’d gotten a pretty nice picture of a gray fox back in September, exploring another patch of our yard. I wonder if it’s the same fox or a relative. And what the hell are they looking for in our yard? There’s no buried treasure, I already checked.)
It’s a gray fox. Needless to say this sighting cost Oliver at least one marble.
Yes, you would rather see Graphic Footage of Oliver’s Triumph, but none exists. So instead you get the fox picture from yesterday. I retrieved the enemy’s remains and pitched them over the fence behind the garden, beyond Oliver’s territory. Then I weeded in the garden. Oliver was let out on his tether. He cried and cried and tangled his leash around the corner post of the shed three times as I got the garlic bed weeded out. He was either reliving his combat scenes, looking for the chipmunk body, or maybe both. Still in the dissociative state, he wound his leash around the post 5 times, thrice. And I had to come unwind him. War is hell.
Oh look, the walking iris bloomed again!
WTF?!?! We’re in the middle of the Dog & Chipmunk War story and here’s a stupid flower picture. What’s the point? None really. This is the flower that blooms and shrivels in 24 hours. Then the flower stalk flops to the floor and sprouts the baby plant. Hence the name “walking iris”. Is something meant by this? Nope. Don’t think so. Do you?