cannycanine.com

The sun was shining just at the right angle this morning as we passed one of the oak trees along the path out behind the barn.  The trunk has a huge green patch.  I’m going to have to investigate what it is, I’ve never seen it before.  Two dogs and three cats went up the back hill with me, cats not allowing anyone in front of them.  The temperature is dropping, we’re down to 32 right now.  Gun shots all around, I think it’s turkey season.  The farmers down below us are cleaning their cattle shed and depositing all the waste on the field between us.  In older days, this meant the dogs would be sneaking down there to roll, but they are getting older now and don’t go looking for trouble.

(Ha! I’m planning on going down there just as soon as the tractors leave.  Huck)

“Huck I think my big, fluffy feet are one of my best features.”

“Yep, they’re big alright.  Following you into the house is like following the leaf sweeper.”

“Amber says she thinks I’m a purebred cocker spaniel and after doing some research, I think she’s right.”

“Well yes, that would explain it.”

“Explain what?”

“The howling, the moodiness, the dependency on Momma Dog.  Not to mention jumping stiff legged at every new thing you see.  Cocker are notorious for being mental.”

“I’m going to jump stiff legged at you next.”

“Hey Nemo, I’ve got a parable about the predator/prey dilemma.  Listen to this:

Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up.  It knows it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed.  Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up.  It knows it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve.  It doesn’t matter whether you’re a lion or a gazelle – - when the sun comes up, you’d better be running.”

“Wow!  Who said that?”

“It says source unknown.”

“I want to be the lion.”

“Me too.”

“Huck, did you notice how lean the coyote leader is? 

“Animals in the wild are usually around 20% underweight Nemo.”

“I must look like a pork belly to him.  Did you ever wonder why we have a good home and get fed every night, and animals like coyotes never know when they will eat?”

“Our kind sold out Nemo.  We traded our freedom for a warm fire and dinner.  We don’t get to run as a pack and howl at the moon.”

“I still howl sometimes, when I’m happy or lonely.”

“I think I’ll help out by throwing a biscuit over the bank once in awhile.”

“Yes sir, we will sir, and thank you for the cookie.”

“You did good Nemo and you even ate the mouse muffin.”

“Mouse muffin?  I thought that was a chocolate chip cookie.”

“What did the head coyote want?”

“He wants us to use our blog to tell people that predators need space to live too.  Nature cannot function without them.  Also that the main staple in the coyote diet is mice.  In some states it’s open season on coyotes all year.”

“Blimey!  It’s late, good thing the moon’s almost full.  Do you think we’re in trouble at home?”

“Nope, Momma Dog likes coyotes.  She subscribes to The Daily Coyote blog and has followed Charlie Coyote since he was a pup.”

“Great dog Huck, how much farther is it?” (Pant pant)

“Just up the next ridge.”

“You forget I’m carrying the gift bag of chewbones in my pack and I’m full from dinner.  (pant, pant)  I cannot eat even a little piece of deer gut, maybe I could just chew on the end of an antler.  How do I greet the coyote leader?”

“Well, I say hullo mate, but you’d better say Good Evening Sir.  You always talk to the head coyote first or he might go for your throat,  and you never make eye contact.”

“My throat!  OMG!  I like my white throat, it looks nice with my neckerchief.  Just a minute Huck, stop right there.  Let’s think this thing through.”

“Yip, yip, yip!”

“Too late.  The sentry’s spotted us.  Chin up Nemo.”

“Chin up!  What do you mean by that?”

“Whoo Hoo!  I’m glad Momma Dog’s home from Las Vegas.  I thought we were both going to starve to death.”

“Not me Nemo.  I had my stash under Momma Dog’s chair.  I could have gone another week.”

“Did the coyotes really invite me to dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yep.  They’ve never seen any dog as round as you are.”

“What are they having?”

“Hunter’s stew.  Deer guts and greens.”

“OMG!  I’m not eating deer guts.  Tell them I’m Vegan, tell them I’m at the vets,  I’d rather remove one of my claws with my eyetooth than eat a raw deer gut.”

“You have to go or the head coyote will be offended.”

“Aaaarrrrhhhh!”

“What’s everybody looking at me for?  I had nothing to do with it!”

“Momma Dog finds a dead raccoon under our back deck and you don’t know anything about it Huck the Hunter?”

“Maybe a car hit him and he came home to die, you know like in that poem by Robert Frost, “Death of a Hired Hand”.  Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in.

“How long do you think he’s been dead?”

“At least a day, he’s stiff as a carp and weighs more than I do.”

“Huck!  Where have you been? You almost got left out for the night.”

“Hunting.”

“Hunting my stub!  We heard coyotes howling all around here at ten o’clock last night.  There must have been a dozen of them.  Then you come home a half hour later and tell us you’ve been hunting.  I think not.”

“The coyotes want me to find out if they can play poker in our garage this winter when the snow gets deep.”

“Absolutely not!  Are you crazy?  When the snow gets deep, hunting gets hard.  About January they will squirt catsup and mustard on you and make a Hairy Huckburger.  You notice we already don’t have any rabbits left around here.  You march right back out there and tell them no.”

“Huck!  What have you got?”

“A piece of burger.”

“How old is it?”

“Last Sunday.”

“It’s hard as a rock.”

“I just need to gnaw on it a little and get it wet around the edges.  I’m going to use it as a hockey puck when it gets colder.”