Word trickled down to us that a new neighbor, who is three houses down from us, had reported seeing a bear in their yard, and called the police to have it removed. Imagine their disappointment when the neighbor nearer to us told them that it was Emma the Aussie, who had wandered down to play with his dog.
The police came on patrol anyway, and found no trace of a bear that they could use as bear spray practice. They should have looked for one that has one leg shaved, which Emma has. Hereby hangs another tale.
Back at the first of the month Emma had a bad case of food poisoning, which I strongly suspect had something to do with the big piece of of squirrel fur which she barfed up right in front of me. We took her to the vet, who promptly shaved her leg and stuck an IV in it. Two days and two nights later, Emma was returned to us, and she promptly reclaimed her bear’s territory. Moral here–if squirrel is on the menu, specify that you want the non-rotten one.
Such is a dog’s life. You get sick, only to have the cops called on you when you get home. It could have been worse–she could have run into Florida Man. Just a week or two ago one prime specimen sprayed thirty people in a Miami mall with–you guessed it–bear spray. He knocked over a candle shop, and bear sprayed his way out of the crime scene, and escaped in a cab, to whereabouts unknown.
Surrounded by Florida Men, unvaccinated maskless marauders, and various other yahoos, such as the fifty percent of nursing home workers in this state who are unvaccinated, what to do? Voltaire would say, we should cultivate our garden. In my case, I am about to throw the chickens a day old biscuit, and start a chicken riot.