Rudy the Warrior, Exhibit A.
I let him out in the backyard to do his business and called him in after a few minutes because I didn't want him traipsing around in the mud. Only he couldn't wait to go back outside. He just sat by the door and whined. Ok, fine. Back outside you go. I was curious to see what he wanted, so I watched him sniff at the base of his tree. The tree where he collects anything that he's found in the yard, so he knows where it is at all times. Then I watched him prance across the yard with a stick in his mouth. I smiled and thought, "That dog, so proud of his stick..."
Oh, but it was NOT a stick. It was, my friends, a squirrel.
Rudy killed a squirrel. Rudy the Warrior, Exhibit B.
After a minor freak-out, I called him to drop the squirrel at which point he looked up at me like, "What? I'm just playing with my squirrel." I called my dad who (while laughing hysterically) convinced me that yes, I needed to get it out of the yard because yes, Rudy would eat it. Or it would decompose. Neither of which I'm okay with. But we have no scoopers of that magnitude and I was paralyzed with fear over the thought of having to get some sort of towel or bag and actually FEEL the squirrel tail as I picked it up. I just now shivered thinking about it.
Lucky for me, my neighbor was playing basketball outside so I asked to borrow a shovel. And he promised not to tell my OTHER neighbor that I disposed of the squirrel in their backyard. It's wooded, they don't ever go back there and they'll never know it was me.
But if they do, I'll be gone in a few weeks anyway. Me, The Officer and The Exterminator...headed off into the sunset.
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