My husband and my dog have this ritual. Every evening, usually well after dark, they do rounds. Sometimes the cat goes with them, but mostly, it’s Moose and Michael . . . and the deer. Stealth is not in Moose’s vocabulary, so the deer always know when she’s coming. And to hear Michael tell the stories, the deer are quite adept at heavy sighs and rolling eyes. “Again? Do we really have to?” And to hear Moose tell the stories, “You should have been there! Dragons! Everywhere! I chased them all the way to the end of the earth! I am so very brave. Aren’t you proud of me?”
Well, this evening, Moose and Michael went out early, before dark. They went down to the bottoms to break up the usual deer conclave, but got sidetracked at the shooting target. I don’t know what happened exactly. The only story I got was, “Moose got 5 and I got 1.” And, “I am awarding Moose with the Boo award.” (Boo was my dog way back when I first met Michael. Michael and Boo used to hunt rats in the compost pile. Boo was a great mouser.)
All in all, Moose and Michael are being strangely secretive with the details. The picture tells the story though. The resident rodent population took a hit today.