My Great Hunter
I had no idea when Handsome adopted Champ and Jones, our malti-poos, that Jones would turn out to be such a huge hunter.
Jones would be a good running buddy for someone. Sadly, I'm not a good runner.
Champ pitter patters. He’s smaller, more Maltese than Poodle. He has the short legs with a little bend in them. He likes to fetch “Squeaky,” an Army green flat cat. He leaps off furniture and scampers like a sheep. But not nearly as fast as Jones.
When I held yoga in the garage apartment, one lady came in late and asked if the dogs had a brown squeaky. My head went hmm because you never knew when they'd change from one to another and possibly, they had changed without me knowing. But upon returning to the house and passing their doggie bed, I saw the truth. A squirrel.
A month ago, Jones caught another squirrel. I had my hands in sudsy water and heard high-pitched squeals. Running outside, I saw this one still alive. I slid a newspaper plastic wrapper over my hand and up my arm, picked the creature up by his tail and set him in the grass beyond the breezeway gate and out of Jones’ reach. Instantly, the little guy flipped and crawled into the lantana.
This past week, Jones caught another, only I wasn’t there to rescue it. Then he caught two small ones. I went to the garage with garbage and saw him on his bed with the two, all laid out neatly, side by side. I dispatched them, thinking that’s what I’d heard squealing.
An hour later, another. Sigh.
With all the scurrying going on because it's fall, I almost dread going outside and finding more bodies. I’m sure there is a way to teach Jones not to catch animals. Any tips for helping me?
Pets are a lot of fun! Hattie Cooks loves cats, but can only have a beta in her apartment. Find out more at: