I was minding my own business, cleaning (what I should have been doing) or blogging (what I probably was actually doing) when the action happened. I didn't hear anything, didn't notice anything, didn't have any reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary. I meandered downstairs to replenish my supply of paper towels when I noticed that Hyperdog had made a mess out of one of the cat toys. I didn't remember having a cat toy with so many feathers on it, and generally, when we buy feathered cat toys, the feathers are bright--like pink, or blue even green. These were brown, and there were just so many. All over the living room carpet. Generally when hyperdog destroys one of the cat toys, she looks very satisfied, like she has again doled out the proper punishment for leaving the toy around where it doesn't belong. For some reason, in this instance, both Hyperdog and Monsterpaw (THE paws) were looking pleased and self-satisfied.
Closer inspection revealed the awful, disgusting truth. Some how, some way, one of us (me, Little Chic or Brainy Boy) had let one of the pets into the house with a real live birdie in tow. It was still real, and still a birdie, but no longer LIVE. I inspected muzzles, ears and claws for evidence, but both animals were desperately trying to claim credit for the haul. Brainy Boy immediately began obsessing about ticks while Little Chic, always the avid nature girl, offered to discard the carcass. Good mom that I am, always encouraging new experiences, let her! I did insist that she use a plastic bag and I made sure she washed her own paws afterward, but I did let her select the final resting place because personally, I was getting a bit grossed out. Brainy Boy continued to fret about fleas and ticks and even felt a few itches and bug bites as I snapped some memories on my handy-dandy Fuji. He scratched furiously while we waited for Hero Guy to get home and witness the thrill firsthand.
It was a little anticlimatic to vacuum the remains and then peer around our living room and see much of the same type of scenery as I had just cleaned up, mounted artfully on the walls--dead deer, dead bear, dead coyote, dead turkey, dead pheasant...well, you get the picture. At least they're all in once peice and their feathers and fur are all intact.
Closer inspection revealed the awful, disgusting truth. Some how, some way, one of us (me, Little Chic or Brainy Boy) had let one of the pets into the house with a real live birdie in tow. It was still real, and still a birdie, but no longer LIVE. I inspected muzzles, ears and claws for evidence, but both animals were desperately trying to claim credit for the haul. Brainy Boy immediately began obsessing about ticks while Little Chic, always the avid nature girl, offered to discard the carcass. Good mom that I am, always encouraging new experiences, let her! I did insist that she use a plastic bag and I made sure she washed her own paws afterward, but I did let her select the final resting place because personally, I was getting a bit grossed out. Brainy Boy continued to fret about fleas and ticks and even felt a few itches and bug bites as I snapped some memories on my handy-dandy Fuji. He scratched furiously while we waited for Hero Guy to get home and witness the thrill firsthand.
It was a little anticlimatic to vacuum the remains and then peer around our living room and see much of the same type of scenery as I had just cleaned up, mounted artfully on the walls--dead deer, dead bear, dead coyote, dead turkey, dead pheasant...well, you get the picture. At least they're all in once peice and their feathers and fur are all intact.
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