Lila Bea is eight & a half months old. Sometime during the night or early this morning she announced the opening of wabbit season by opening it herself. The game wardens might not agree, but it’s too late. The season has begun. Evidently, a wabbit decided to slip through the fence and check out this Garden of Eden we call our back yard. Well, it used to be: the puppies are still in the chewing stage, and the entire property is vulnerable. Our current landscaping glossary now defines just about each and everything out there as…a “stick”.
I’m sure the wabbit was invited to a chase, and not seeing any way to avoid it, joined in. But my dawgs don’t just play chase; they play chase & tackle NFL style with teeth! No doubt, Sir Benson Zipper De Doo Dah (nine months old) was in on it too. The invitation was probably not fully understood by the wabbit, but since the hippy-d-hop-hopper had mounted what was presumed to be an invasion, the chase turned into Little Bighorn.
The wabbit was captured and executed. The corpse was brought to the back door and offered as a sacrifice to the gods (us). I studied on it and have decided it was a legal execution, what with the laws of nature being what they are.
Lila Bea was quite proud of herself. Brenda was the first to discover the wabbit. She had to bribe them with dawg biscuits to get them away from their kill. Brenda called to me saying:
“Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! They killed a wabbit!”
When I got to the door, Lila Bea with great enthusiasm pointed (she does this well due to having ancestors among the hunting breeds) and exclaimed:
“Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Hey, hey, hey! Hey, hey! Hey! “. This is generally about all that dawgs have to say most of the time anyway. I understood. I’ve said the same thing myself many times.