I took Dockers with me to the front of our yard while I trimmed some trees and did some weeding. After rounding up tools and the last of the yard debris, I call Dockers to follow me as I'm heading back to the house.
No response.
I turn to look at what has him so occupied and observe him pouncing. By pouncing I mean literally like Tigger from Winnie the Pooh, he's pouncing and preoccupied with something. Not appreciating that he's oblivious to my call, I start to walk back towards him. His muzzle is buried deep into our ground cover and he retrieves something and quickly tries to meet me.
OH NO! He has something in his mouth. A poor little creature! "DOCKERS!" I shriek in horror. "RELEASE" (my command when we play ball for them to release the ball). He drops his prize. It's a beautiful, dark gray, field mouse. The poor creature is lying on his side making faint, short-intervaled chirpping sounds. My heart is breaking. Please get up and scurry away. I'm looking over him … is he hurt, can he get up and run away? Do I need to be merciful if he's too hurt so that he doesn't suffer. Now tears are welling in my eyes. The mouse stops chirpping. He's quiet. He's still.
This happened two weeks ago and I can't get the sight of him dying out of my mind. Poor thing. What an awful way to go.
I love all my dogs. Dogs are so honest and straight-forward. They love and respect you unconditionally as long as you're worthy of it — and even if you're not. You see them as cute and cuddly and when you look in their eyes — those eyes speak volumes to you that only you could know and understand if you've raised them.
Even though, in the back of your mind, you think your four-legged friend/child is domesticated and something short (no pun intended) of a humanoid – there will always be that primal predatory instinct.
