Between jobs

So one of the housemates, the one with the longer legs, has been staying home a lot lately. Something about being between jobs. He has a lot of time on his paws. We walk longer in the morning. I like that. Then he added a second even longer walk in the late afternoon. I liked it a lot. At first. Then they got longer. And they come rain or shine. And it's all business. I can hardly get a sniff in edgewise.

Meanwhile, The natives are staking out their territory. Mine is unguarded during peak territory grabbing hours. I can't really tell him that I have work to do. Sort of sounds a little insensitive. So we walk. And walk. Did I mention I'm nine years old? Not a pup. I was feeling it in my hips.

Today, good news. Long legs won't be between jobs much longer. Come May 10, I'm back full time on yard patrol. May 10. That's a long way away. My hips can tell you that...

Mission Accomplished

Saw native. Pursued. Leaped. Cleared. Even easier than I thought. House mates not happy. Native eluded me, but knows not to wave his tail and give me the raspberries again.

Spring fever

Really, now. How is a guy supposed to get any work done around here? It's finally spring and I've finally got some footing to chase down the natives and the house mates put this fence up. Something about protecting what's left of the grass. I have news for the house mates: winter pretty much put a nail in the lawn's coffin. I've been able to clear the fence in the past, but this year one of the house mates stacked one fence on top of the other. So here I sit, listening to the native squirrels taunt me...



..oh well, from the looks of the construction job I think I only have to wait until the first good storm comes along. Then, it's roasted squirrel legs all around....

Life in the trenches

It's been a while. Last time I checked in it was 85 degrees in October. Two months later it's snow that's shoulder high on a Great Dane. Stayed that way ever since. So I've been spending all my time running the trenches. Round and round, up and down. The natives think I'm just playing games. I'm not. As soon as they come down here, they'll find that out. Here's what I've been up to. Over and over. Round and round. Up and down.....

Squirrel math

+




=

Someday....

...that low-down squirrel who clipped my nose with a hedge trimmer has to come back down out of that tree. And I'll be waiting for him. Or, ahem, her...

...Bell Tolls, II

Like I said, I have an explanation. The summer was hot. Other varmints popped up. A chipmunk turned the front garden into his own 18 hole golf course. (Not my fault! I'm barred from going in the garden. How can I defend territory I can't patrol??!??!)
One day, though, the border collie toddles over and says, "You notice anything strange about the ash tree in the backyard?"



Well, I headed back there are circled the tree a couple of times. I gave it a power sniff up and down the fat stem. Nothing. The border collie, I was beginning to realize, was just having one of his crazy old dog episodes. Clean as a whistle, I snorted when I got back in the house. The border collie looked up from his Real Simple magazine, pushed his reader glasses up his nose, and said, "Just stand back there and listen, MacGyver."

I sighed, trudged back out to the yard and cocked an ear. I heard scurrying. More than usual. Muffled conversation. A radio playing Top 40 music very very softly. It was all coming from overhead. What the???!??! I panned my gaze up the fat stem, real slow, like Peckenpaugh. And. There. It. Was.



A nest.

Filled with squirrels.

On my turf.



Which has something to do with how I got this. Which is a story for next time.