(WARNING: perhaps the faint of heart should read with caution.)
Two nights ago, I let Hunter out, per usual, before we all went to bed for the night. I was in my usual daze I experience as I wait outside for him as he pokes around in the yard and eventually does his business. Suddenly I heard this, well, squeak. It was a rapid-fire squeak, though, not a singular yet repetitious squeak. I also couldn’t place it and couldn’t see very well as I gazed out into the yard next to us, where I fully expected this mystery creature to be, based on the direction of the squeak. Seeing nothing, I tried to find Hunter in the darkness of that side of the deck, where, let me tell you, the lights don’t shine at all.
I spotted Hunter down below, but he seemed to be just meandering around like he always does, seemingly obvious to the sound. Odd, thought I. Why isn’t he reacting to that really loud squeaky noise?
Upon further investigation, I realized that Hunter was the source of the squeak! Eek! Not so much by himself, but via his assistant, er, victim. I ran down the steps on the opposite side of the deck and yelled out to him to Come, let’s go, etc. I wasn’t wearing any shoes so I couldn’t march over to him (you wouldn’t choose to walk barefoot below our deck, either). My husband ran outside to see what was afoot, and we both ran back inside to get shoes and the flashlight.
By the time I shined the flashlight down on that ragamuffin dog, his victim was either consumed or had escaped. My bet is that it had escaped, as Hunter seemed to be sniffing around for it, like he was thinking, Had it here, Lost it there.
Enough was enough, and so I went below deck and collected him in all his hunter Hunter glory. He didn’t have any (ew) blood on his face or body, so whatever it was, we think it got away.
Later my husband and I discussed what we thought Hunter might have been attacking. We’re pretty sure it was a rodent, based on the noise, probably a chipmunk, which we have spotted on occasion and with which we don’t generally take issue. I had an absurd thought that, well, the squeak was too high-pitched to have been a rat (I was thinking it to calm myself down). How did I associate that squeak I’d heard with being too high pitched to have been a rat? Did I think rats, because they are bigger, had a lower, more Barry White-like bass squeak? At which point I started cracking up laughing while I brushed my teeth. I kept making Barry White style squeaks for my husband, who, fortunately, tolerates me.
Hi, I’m Hunter, and I like to kill things in my back yard!