I am SO sorry about Spot! He really is a good dog who takes his job of protecting me and the farm very seriously. Well, maybe a little too seriously. But how was I supposed to know that when he dove into the bush this morning, he was going to come up with a baby rabbit? It was early, I was under-caffeinated, and it took me a split second too long to realize what was going on. It was over quickly with nary a sound from the bunny.
Two days ago, it was a mole. Really. Those little denizens of the deep that most dogs find infuriating as they dig up the tunnels. Not Spot. He sat for a moment, cocked his head at the ground, dug–once, twice–and there was a big fat mole with it little light brown paws rolling out onto the ground. I was more aware that time and able to pull him off before he did any damage. And, of course, he has a track record. Even before we adopted him, when he was just the new dog next door, he killed my pretty little Silver Spangled Hamburg when she dared to venture over the fence. And his first night at the farm, despite being tied, he was close enough to grab Dotty, our silver Wyandotte, but all he got was a mouth full of feathers before Bob wrestled him to the ground.
Right now, he is tied out front watching the corn field across the drive way as it is full of furry creatures. And I’m remembering reading Gary Paulsen’s Woodsong when I taught middle school. It is book full of the sudden, brutal violence of nature. Not my usual book–I haven’t ever made it through Old Yeller or The Red Pony–but the kids liked Paulsen and I was determined to try. Paulsen talks about how we are raised on a somewhat sanitized view of nature, that of Marlin Perkins’ Wild Kingdom, one of my favorite shows as a kid. The lions stalk the gazelle, we see them running and then we see the lions eating something that might have been a gazelle. The actual death took place off camera so we didn’t have to watch the struggles, see the blood, experience the violence. Spot killing a bunny was certainly not that graphic but it was brutal and unexpected and a reminder that, for all his domesticated qualities, he harbors the soul of a hunter and killer and no amount of human intervention will ever train that out of him.
And then he is also a big baby who is afraid of thunder storms. The wind is kicking up, and he has retired to the front porch to be near me. I don’t think this storm will hit us but there are some cells out to the west. At least the breeze has brought some relief to the humid day we had. I am planning to head upstairs to do some organizing now that we’ve got some more furniture in place.
And, Mother Nature, I promise I will be more vigilant.
