To say our dog is crazy is an understatement. . .to repeat something my husband said recently:
When he was a puppy, he fancied himself a fish. He swallowed a spinner bait late one night, making it necessary to call the local Humane Society representative to come and help us remove the bait from his mouth.
When he was a year old, he fancied himself a deer. He was shot by a hunter with a small caliber deer rifle.
Last week, he fancied himself a possum. Our chickens had been being terrorized by possums, some even killed. We laid a live trap for the possums so we could catch them and release them into the swamps nearby. Our first capture was not a possum, but a Cocker Spaniel.
Today, apparently, he's a stunt double. And he did a poor job at that. He's put a huge gash in his back.
Right now, he's laying down on a blanket beside me. If he planned to never be let off of a leash again, his plan worked. (I hope he doesn't miss all of that farmland he was once able to run on)
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