Birdie Went CRUNCH

There is a definite need to train my dog the difference between a snack and a wounded bird, especially when one of them is in my hands.

I looked out my kitchen window and saw what appeared to be a bird taking to food to the ground instead of its nest.  I investigated and found a baby bird on the ground.  The bird had fallen and the mother was feeding it.

The baby bird didn’t appear injured, but was too small fly.  It couldn’t have been more than a week old.  I wanted to put it back in its nest.

I went into the garage to find a pair of garden gloves, but then remembered I have the XY chromosome, which makes me physically unable to use garden gloves.  Instead, I put on my snow gloves.

I knelt down and gently picked up the bird.  My dog, thinking I had a treat, darted across the yard and snatched it in her mouth.

CRUNCH!

It sounded like she bit into an ice cream cone.

As an indication I might actually have the XX chromosome, I jumped in a circle and screamed, “Ew ew ew ew!  Drop it!  Drop it!  Drop it!”

Then, I yelled out random commands.

“Sit!  Sit!  Roll over!  Roll over!”

She spit out the chewed remains and rolled over.  The bird resembled a folded Ritz cracker covered in ketchup and the chewed fat off a pork roast.

I stared down with my mouth open.  This action would become a week’s worth of nightmares.

I picked up what was left of the bird, opened the trashcan lid, peeled off my gloves and tossed everything in.  I’d rather buy a new pair of gloves than pick off the bird pieces.

I looked across the yard and saw my dog still rolling.

“At least she obeys that command,” I said under my breath.

Unfortunately, she was rolling over a dead squirrel.

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