Your Dog

 

This is NOT the bird, I am sparing your
sensibilities. 

You know how she's been rolling on the lawn under the clothesline? And how she smells worse than...well, I can't come up with anything bad enough to describe how she smells...even Dad complained? Yeah, that particular mystery is solved.

I took her out at half light this morning before anyone else was up....while you were sleeping so to speak. She took care of bidness and then went for a nice roll over in her usual location. I let her because if she is rolling she isn't running away on me and besides the grass has been combing out a lot of the excess hair she would normally shed in the kitchen to be tracked all through the house.

Then I called her in so I could brew a magic elixir of morning for myself...Even weak coffee is better than none.

Plop. She dropped a treasure right at my feet.

It was a dead bird. A very, very, very, very, very dead bird, so far gone as to only be recognizable by the beak that adorned a blackish, reeking, disgusting blob. Nicely soaked by the rain too.

With paper towel in hand...after she tried to steal it from me a couple of times...I conveyed it to the barnyard...cow barnyard...and disposed of it there. I don't know if I will ever be able to wash my hands enough to feel clean, despite the paper towel.

She looked at me accusingly when I came back and then demanded that I throw the ball for her.

I politely declined while I washed the kitchen floor in the places where she had dropped it.

Just so you know....