Those of my anipal furends who know me know that several months ago I caught a squirrel (yes, yes thank you thank, yes, impressive I know). This squirrel catch was sheer luck because the squirrel just fell out of the tree right in front of me! I pounced on it with my feets, but since I was leashed Mom pulled me off, uttered the dreaded "leave it" command and the terrified squirrel scurried back up the tree to safety.
Well today faithful furends I DID IT. April 22, 2011 -
I caught, and yes, killed a squirrel. (Let us now pause for applause, a moment of silence and a chance for all readers to catch their breath).
Today I was off leash - which is an important fact in this morning's event. On my normal squirrel patrol with Mom in tow, in one of my favourite hunting grounds known for it's early morning activity a "yoot" squirrel scampered merrily down the trunk of a giant live oak tree, onto the ground, digging in the dirt and fallen leaves with it's little squirrel paws.
I was no more than 3 feet away. I don't know why the adolescent rodent came so close to me. Perhaps it was too young to know that it should fear a 75LB dog. Or maybe it just didn't see me. Never the less, I took the opportunity to POUNCE.
Mom was close by, and when she realized that I had the squirrel in my mouth she ran to me, grabbed my collar and told me to "drop it". Her voice meant business.
Please note - if you are at all squeamish it is best to stop reading here. You already know today did not end well for the squirrel.
I felt my front paws lift off the ground as Mom lifted my front end up by my collar "DROP IT GUS" she commanded again. By now, I was already chewing, I could feel the squirrel fur in my teeths, hear the crunch of its delicate bones. I also heard the serious tone of Mom's voice so I obeyed her, and dropped the squirrel. Mom snapped my leash onto my outfit (aka my harness) and pulled me away.
Proud of my accomplishment, I pulled with all my might to go back to my prey. Mom dug in, held fast, and dragged me in the opposite direction. I was confused. We stalk squirrels every day, 7 days a week, rain or shine. Mom points out squirrels to me, nurtures my prey drive and hangs on like a trooper when I drag her through muck, and spider webs, up hills and down hills.
But this morning, while I was still basking in the glow of my first kill I heard something odd in Mom's voice. A wavering, a shaking I have never heard before. Mom's voice quivered as she told me "Gus this way" and she pulled me off in another direction. Mom was crying. Crying? For what? She witnessed the squirrel fall to the ground, flat on its back and draw its last breath after I obediently dropped it from the clench of my powerful jaws. She should be celebrating with me. Perhaps they are tears of joy? No, Mom was upset, I could feel it.
Reluctantly, I lead the way to the opposite side of the park where Mom wanted to go. We stopped, she asked me to sit, then she gave me a big hug and said "You're a good boy Gus, good boy".
