I miss all the good stuff

We have three dogs here on Bookish Farm. There is Nora the Chicken Slayer, a large Belgian Sheepdog/Border Collie/Whatever Else mixed-breed rescue. There is Sassy the Nervous, a badly pure bred Shetland Sheepdog. And there is Zuzu the Ferocious, an overgrown papillon.

It's not uncommon to hear barking around this house. When the oil truck comes to refill the tank, when the postperson stops at the mailbox, when the wind blows through the trees in just the right way - we get a lot of barking.

And every morning when they collectively decide that it is time to go outside, we hear barking. And if HSH doesn't respond quickly enough, they will bravely climb the stairs and start barking in the hallway outside our bedroom door.

And if we still don't respond, one or the other of them might take a notion to teach us a lesson by relieving herself on the floor.

What - like it never happens at your house?

So, this morning, very VERY early, the dogs started barking. It was earlier than usual, so HSH first tried to ignore it. But the barking persisted to the point that he gruffly got out of bed and marched downstairs to put them outside in the cold night just to teach them a lesson.

When he got back into the house, hoping furiously that they were freezing their little vocal chords off, something darted from behind the television. Something warm-blooded. Something furry. Something flying.

It was not a bat. It was a flying squirrel. In our den. Clinging to the wall.

HSH performed the patented Large Pest Removal Trick of placing a container (in this case, a little trash bin) over the animal and sliding a magazine underneath it so he could carry it outside.

The funny thing is, I had just been bragging to Moreena that, despite warnings that mice always get into the house in the autumn, we had not seen a single living specimen.

I wish I had photos to share with all you Internet Strangers. Sadly, I do not. I was upstairs snoring with the baby.

But I do have pictures of this - actual upstate NY snow. And I had just given up on believing the rumors.

And have you met my daughter Bee? If so, you will know that she slept in this outfit the night be bought it.

Don't look at me. I have no idea how a daughter of mine got to be like that.

Comments

[ppb]

See, they're trained attack dogs!