I'd gotten home from church, last night, and was sitting in my chair doing some ordering for the stores when Sugar, our aged Chi-Weenie, started to whimper at the front door. She was wanting out....for the thousandth time since we'd been home. In and out. In and out. It's what she does.

Anyway, Carson was close by and I called for him to open the door for her, so I wouldn't have to get up from all the comfy-ness. It's one of the many reasons I dread the empty nest.....no one left to get up and do stuff for you. Anyway, of course, it wasn't long before we heard a scratch at the door and he let her back in again.

No one was really paying attention to her. Carson let her in and walked away. Davis was busy in another room. I was looking at my laptop. I did notice, after a while, that she was still hanging around the entrance area and so I looked up to see what she was doing.

She was chewing on something. Hmm. She'd gotten a toy skunk and a stuffed chicken for Christmas. Maybe that was it. Wait. No, I could tell this was indeed something animal-like, but it appeared to be no toy. I mean, none of her toys ooze blood or crunch when she chews on them. "Oh, crud. What is that?!!" 

I ran over and grabbed her collar because she was headed to the carpeted area with whatever kind of bloody carcass it was. She dropped the remains on the floor. What gruesome injuries the poor creature of God had sustained. And, at this point, only God knew what it once was. It had spent enough time between Sugar's jaws that it was unrecognizable. Yes, there were eyes. And legs. And some kind of claw-like things. Was it a bat? A kitten? A rodent?   

Hanging onto her collar so she'd stop crunching on the oozing snack, I let out a desperate, "DAVIS! DAVIS! CARSON! DAVIS! CARSON!!" I just needed a man. I've never been a feminist and I don't know about y'all, but I couldn't care less about gender equality when it comes to getting dead animals out of my house......or killing snakes......or a host of other unpalatable chores that I deem to be a man's job.

I remembered reading that when your dog brings a dead animal to you, they're trying to impress you with their prowess. An offering of sorts. So, I'm sure Sugar was awfully perplexed by my unhinged and feverish reaction as I pulled tighter on her collar and screamed for help. I could imagine her thinking, "What's the problem here? I'm just trying to display how I protect the premises and destroy invaders thereof."

Well, at this point, Sugar had obviously misinterpreted all the collar tugging for me wanting to get in on her nighttime snack, so she made a sort of instinctive growling noise as if to say, "Hey, this one's mine. Go out in the yard and get your own if you're hungry."

Finally, the boys come running into the room as I'm sure they thought that, by the sound of it, I'd fallen, cracked my skull, broken my leg, and the bone poking through the skin was shooting blood out like a geyser and splattering off the ceiling. I'm almost certain they were relieved that it was only a dead mammal in the foyer. 

"What is this, Davis?" I demanded answers. I knew he'd know. You see, he grew up a country boy and, for all I knew, had even likely eaten one of whatever this was on my floor, so I looked to him to I.D. the body. Upon close inspection of the mangled parts, he suspected it was a mole and scooped it up with a paper towel. I commenced with the disinfection. Even so, I've come to terms with the fact that my mother will likely never visit our home again after reading this. Sugar went to bed still unsure of what she'd done. And I continue to take the long way around the sterilized scene.

One thing's for certain.

Even after a couple of beef flavored DentaStix, there will be no dog kissing for a while.

A long, long, long while.   
 The hunter.

Who knows what all is in that bulge, really.


Y'all have a fun weekend!