The Chronicles of Zippy
My folks have been digging in the back yard for some reason. We are not allowed to dig in the back yard for any reason.
We have tried to explain the deep personal satisfaction that a good dirt displacement brings, but they still don’t let us dig.
There they are, shoveling away. They have two canine rototillers, yet they insist on doing it themselves. It would be a win/win situation, but they still will not let us help. How is that fair?
They seem quite pleased, a sprinkler has a spray of water coming out of it. Yippie.
There is a SQUIRREL! In OUR yard! There is a SQUIRREL IN OUR YARD!
This has NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE! There is a SQUIRREL IN OUR YARD!
I don’t know WHAT TO DO!
I know what to do when there are squirrels at the park. But I don’t know what to do when there is a SQUIRREL in OUR YARD!
Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhh! SQUIRREL!
It must have come over the fence on that overhanging branch. Yes, that must be it. What shall I do?
I will charge the squirrel. Yes, that seems logical. I will do what I do when I encounter a squirrel at the park. It should be no different, right? Except, in my own yard, I do not wear a leash, so I will not be reined in by one of my folks. That would seem to increase my chances of actually, for once, REACHING a squirrel.
I have no idea what I will do then.
Wow. What a day!
We have returned from another round of camping. I have decided I do not like camping much. I prefer a manicured, green park with well-spaced ducks and squirrels.
Daisy, however, is a camping dog. I think she is part Jeep. She leads us up hills on rutted, rocky paths, trotting along merrily, getting all dusty.
Now that we are home, she is snoozing outdoors. I think we have unleashed her primal beast.
I am comfortable on the sofa.
My folks have added a little Flash thingy to Daisy’s site. (It’s all the way at the end.) It’s kinda trippy for a few minutes.
I’m starting to think my folks have more free time than I do.
And I’m a dog.