As many of you know, a few weeks ago Bubba killed not one but TWO squirrels (you can read about THAT nightmare here).
Today he upped the ante by killing a bird.
On the bright side, he learned from my last bout of hysterics and did NOT bring it to me.
Nor did he bury it in my garden.
He ATE it.
In spite of the fact that I was screaming "No! Stop it! For the love of God, PUT THE BIRD DOWN!" He just wagged his tail, happier than a pig in poo, and crunched down again. Which is when I got a good look at the mutilated mess in his maw.
I would like to report that I heroically tackled the Bub at this point, miraculously saved the bird, and we all lived in Disney-like bliss.
Unfortunately, I was way too busy throwing up to really put up much of a fight.
Once I got myself together, I started to worry about the effect of bird bones on Bubba's belly so I called the vet who shared the not at all comforting thought that this is probably not the first time birds have been killed and consumed in our backyard...he even expressed some admiration for the fact that an 8 year old dog is still spry enough to rampage around birdering.
Oddly, I do not feel the same sense of pride.
In any case, he said Bubba will probably be fine...but that we should keep an eye on his stool for the next few days, looking for signs of trouble.
I probably should have asked what those signs might be but, to be honest, I was a little distracted by the email I was already composing to Opie, informing him of the situation and indicating just whose job "stool searching" was going to be (here's a hint: not mine!).
And now I think I might have to spend the rest of the day lying on the couch with a cool compress on my head....