ONE OF THE JOYS of when we lived in the boondocks: It's 2:20 AM and I am awakened by a crunching sound not far from the bed. My wife raises her head too. It is a contest of will. I get up to check, grab a flashlight, and discover – argh – the dog is chewing on a dead rabbit. I shoo her away, pulling a leg bone from her teeth.
One of the cats has contributed to the larder with a half-grown wild jack rabbit, now with its innards exposed next to the recliner. I hunt for a pair of gloves.
This is a common occurrence when one lives where wild animals and rodents are out and about. Our cats catch rabbits, chipmunks, mice and birds all the time. Sometimes they devour the catch outside. Sometimes they bring them inside as if it is their offering to the family food supply. We catch cans of cat food for them, after all. It's only fair.
One fascinating aspect to the process is how loving the cats are in their domestic incarnation. Our Alpha cat, Fancy Pants, is the most loving cat we've ever had. She enjoys getting petted; she also enjoys returning the affection. Yet, outside she will run down and dispatch a chipmunk like a cheetah on a springbok.
I have no guilt about depriving the dog of her chance for a delicacy. After all, this is an animal that enjoys eating cat poop and puke. Surely the food that we provide is superior. Who knows, though. Now that I think about it, I prefer pizza to filet mignon. There is no accounting for taste.
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