What you crave

A few days ago I had Rosie on a walk in the woods. If we were in person, I'd tell you the animated, long version of the story. But in brief, she smelled something in some dry brush that interested her, pulled, and broke her already-fraying leash. She completely disappeared into a hole. She gave one "I found it!" bark and then I heard little muffled cries. Rosie had cornered some babies in their den. I couldn't entice her to come out. "Let's go on a run," I cried. "I have treats," I yelled. All to no avail. These fun things are no longer tempting when you have cornered the prey that you crave. I asked some other women with dogs to come by the opening to the den, hoping that Rosie would come out to see the other dogs. Eventually, she emerged wet and muddy. And much more interested in hunting. (She wasn't bloody though, so I don't think that she killed the babies.)

Today she was crying to go outside. Most of every day she watches out the window, and when a squirrel comes in the backyard, she cries to go out. When we open the door, she tears into the backyard, and the squirrels run up the retaining wall. It's a routine enacted at least ten times a day. Today, while the kids and I watched, which we rarely do, a different scene played out. Rosie ran into the backyard, the squirrel seemed not to notice her coming, and at the last second, scurried into a drain pipe in the bottom of the wall. Rosie, apparently recalling her success burrowing into the brush a few days ago, started digging around the pipe. Occasionally she'd stop and stick her head into the pipe. Then, she'd dig more. Did I mention that it had rained and rained and rained and rained for the past several days? Our backyard catches our up-hill neighbors' water and doesn't drain. Rosie, of course, doesn't mind the mud.