WHEN IT"S YOUR TIME....

It was early AM, and after doctoring Grump’s wounds with hot compresses and disinfectant, I put on the long leash and we went out for his toilet needs. Smooch was secured on the gallery – I take them one at a time because they tend to play; the leashes get tangled (the untangling is usually accompanied by some naughty words from Mistress), and Grump’s condition requires that he stay quiet, and that his walks be very short. Besides, choker collars or not, I’m no match for 200+ pounds of dog flesh that may decide to take the stairs too fast in their eagerness to exercise!

We were only out the door a few moments when I heard a terrible shrieking. Obviously a bird was in trouble. Suspecting it was a nest robbery in progress, I hurried towards the sound only to discover that the culprit was not another bird, but Dora, my grandson’s cat. She had a Northern Flicker between her paws and teeth, and the poor thing was desperately trying to escape. I yelled, and Grump raced towards them. Seeing him bear down on her, Dora dragged her catch under my grandson’s parked truck; Grump couldn’t get at her there, although he was doing his best. I picked up a branch and poked at her hard, yelling at her to let go. She avoided the poke, but it did make her run out towards the bush, and my trusty doggie stopped her in her tracks. It was long enough for me to grab Dora by the scruff of the neck and shake her, and she dropped the Flicker. The bird slithered/flew down into the cover of the brush. Still holding Miss Dora high, I opened the door to my grandson’s apartment, and deposited the feline none too gently on the floor.

“She was killing one of my birds!” I growled at the very pregnant little GF who looked up at the intrusion. Her expression was one of shock, either at the antics of her cat or at my tone of voice; I didn’t stick around to find out.

I returned to where I had last seen the bird, but it was not in sight. After searching for a few minutes, I concluded that it mustn’t have been badly hurt. Relieved that things had ended well, I praised my Grump for his part in the drama, and we continued our walk. Little did I know that the drama was NOT ended.

Smooch gets a much longer time outside, and he was full of energy this morning. I decided to forego any training, and to let him sniff wherever his nose led him. A ‘free-leash’ excursion, which means I just follow behind him, letting him do his thing. Up and down the gravel lane we went, then into the grass on the large expanse of the lower lawn, my doggie happily prancing, stopping now and then to roll then waiting patiently while I unwind the leash from around him; here, there, everywhere. He wasn’t at the full length of the leash when the bird, probably frightened at our approach, scurried along the ground.

Smooch is fast. Before I could react, he had pounced and the bird was in his mouth. My cries of ‘Drop it!!’ were being ignored (he hasn’t got that command down pat yet), so the only thing I could do was to reach him as quickly as I could and pull the choker collar. I had to literally hang him, still yelling, before he listened and let go of the poor thing. I was pulling him away when I saw Louka, our husky/wolf neighbour, coming toward us. Oh no!!!

I began to run, calling to both of them. It’s a game all the dogs enjoy, and it worked. Well, the running was the first distraction. Louka’s being in heat is what really took their minds off the bird. Suddenly nothing else mattered to the hounds except each other. A blessing in disguise.

Having no choice, Smooch followed me up to the house, with Louka in loving attendance. The walk was cut short. I put him inside, grabbed a towel and gloves, then went back looking for the Flicker. I found him, but it was too late. A cat plays with its prey, which is what saved the bird the first time. Smooch hadn’t been playing, and his jaws are far stronger than Dora’s could be. I wrapped the little creature in the towel and put him in a box. It took only a moment to bury him.

I’m a county girl. I know all about the law of Nature, and that these things happen, but I couldn’t help giving Smooch attitude when I came back inside. I didn’t scold him; one doesn’t have to use words. Smooch knew that something was wrong, but had no idea why I was upset with him. He waited a bit, his doleful eyes watching me whenever I moved. Finally he could take it no longer. Very gently he came to me and put his head on my knee, asking me to forgive whatever it was he had done.

Of course I relented. “When it’s your time, it’s your time,” I told him, as I fondled his ears. “I guess it was just that Flicker’s time.”

Happy that all was right in our world again, Smooch wagged his tail, and we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.