A challenging day for dog ownership

Today at lunch, I took Pixie to the dog park, as I do every day. She ran off, trailing her leash, to chase squirrels, as she does many days. She ran here, she ran there, she had a great time.

She chased one squirrel until it thwarted her by running up a tree. She then chased another to the same result. Again and again, it never gets old.

And then.

She caught one. Well, actually, she found one. It was already dead. Long dead. Proud of herself for this treasure, she trotted her way down out of the brush to my side. She glumly let it go when I asked her to drop it, and then didn't understand why I wouldn't let her lick my hand afterward.

We returned to the apartment.

I heated some alphabet soup. Turned on the radio, and sat down at the table to enjoy the pasta letters.

"What's that all over the carpet?" I innocently asked my dog.
She didn't answer, so I stood up from my lunch and walked over to the carcass of my favorite hat where it lay. There was gore everywhere. A piece of the brim underneath the sofa, shards of the decorative button strewn across the floor.

I cursed. I may have even thrown the carcass. The dog was confused.

I cleaned up all the pieces and sat back down to my now lukewarm soup.



Pixie squatted and peed on the rug.