Sunday, September 21, 2014

cracked corn

There's a man, dead, in a room with no windows and no doors.  There is a puddle in the middle of the floor.  How did he die?

Millie, our pocket Labrador, has been taking a little bit longer to come when called from the back door of late.  And she rounds the corner not in a full run, which made me suspect that whatever was holding her interest was just around the bend and out of sight.

There are a few apple trees that drop their fruit in that direction.  But they are outside of her Invisible Fence area.  So I was getting worried that our rather naughty and seemingly unaware of her collar  when food is on the other side of discomfort pet, might be running through the fencing.

I did a bit of investigating.  I do so like to track things.  Like wolves.  And foxes.  You know, the usual.

By sneaking up on Millie, I found this.  

And a lip smacking dog with a rather distended belly.  She was very sick later that day.  We won't discuss where.  I have forgiven her.

But how was she getting the corn?  It was inside the fence of the garden.  And though I searched for a good while, there were no point of entry.

This is the scene of the crime:

A corn patch.  Neglected when we all agreed that the fresh corn that was being worked into every dinner for several weeks had gotten a bit...starchy.  With more out there I thought, that's okay, I will harvest it, let it dry, and feed it to the chicks as treats.  They will like that come the boring days of winter when they do not peck around their area much due to snow avoidance issues.

But something.

Something sneaky.  And rather destructive.

Could it be Millie, did she have a secret tunnel somewhere, an enlarged groundhog tunnel perhaps?  She is very small.

Or had her oversized lug of a Labrador dog brother Sirius worked up enough energy to move, perhaps even jump the wire fence and then begin tossing ears of corn out of the patch to her?  He is rather large.  And eager to please.

Okay.  I tied back my hair into a ponytail.  And began looking.

Now.  Millie has many skills, like opening locked garbage cans.  And chasing cats with claws.  And snatching food off the counters.  But I am pretty sure she can't climb trees.

That's when I noticed him.  Ulysses.  I recognize his from his characteristically twitchy tree gripping style.  He's back.  Despite his trip to groundhog meadow.

Can you hear him?  He is saying don't move.  Stay very still.  Make like bark.  And she won't see you.

He has a friend.

Oh well.  It looks as though I will be buying my corn for the chickens this winter.

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