Armistice

This past weekend uncovered a very unsavory side to Remy-doggie. He has become a serial woodchuck hunter. I found the first dead woodchuck on Sat. behind a large segment of decorative grass in our flower bed in front of the barn. I had no firsthand knowledge that Remy was the actual killer, so I was hoping that another animal had brought it there. On Sunday morning, I witnessed Remy emerging from the hedgerow in our small paddock with a large brown animal in his jaws. I yelled, "Drop it!!" And he did. I trudged out to the paddock with trepidation and lo and behold, there was a large, freshly dead woodchuck. OMG, my dog is a murderer! It was a sad revelation. My gentle, sensitive, Southern voiced Remy had turned into a cold blooded killer. I'm used to this role with the cats. They have savaged birds, chipmunks, mice, bunnies and a myriad of other small woodland creatures. For some reason, it seems okay that cats kill furry/feathered animals. But Remy? It just wasn't cool. I was not happy. Anyone I told about Remy's sudden penchant for woodchuck killing said, "Great!" Woodchucks are not welcome animals on a horse farm. They dig holes that can potentially break the leg of a galloping horse. "Good for Remy!", they said. "I guess so", I replied weakly. It just didn't seem right. I don't want a dog that relishes killing other animals. After all, Big Zekie sort of resembles a woodchuck and he hisses at Remy on a regular basis. Would Remy give Big Z the fatal death shake? I shudder at the thought.

Later in the day on Sunday, I heard a fracas of barking from Remy, Becks and Ducque (the dingbat black Lab 9 month old pup that lives on the same property). I hollered for them to knock it off and then all was quiet. Within 20 minutes, Ducques owners' came to the barn with Ducque on a leash. "Excuse me", they inquired meekly. I walked up to them with a smile and as Ducque turned his hulking body my smile turned to a frown. There a piece of blood red ripped flesh on Ducque's black flank. "Remy did this", the youngest boy proudly told me. Good Lord, the dog had turned bloodthirsty in a matter of 48 hours! I surmised that Remy was protecting his little brother, Becks when Ducque sat on him and prompted him to squeal in terror, begging to be released. It was a simple case of stronger pup sits on smaller pup and then the big brother intervenes and blood is shed. Great. Ducque is the quintessential dumbass black lab. He's also a well muscled brute. He and Becks are BFF's, but occasionally Ducque uses his bulk to render Becks helpless. Now Becks is not a strong dog, he screams for mercy, but usually Remy is not involved in their young dog games. This time was different. Twelve stitches in Ducques flank different. Oh jeez, I thought to myself. Is Remy going to have to wear a muzzle to quell his taste for blood? Has he become a vampiric Aussie? My mind was swirling. Ducque's owners were very cool about the whole matter. We told them to take him to the vet and we would pay the bill. They generously declined any remuneration, but we offered them Remy's cone head if Ducque were to need it after his stitch job. This would save them a paltry $25 but we wanted to offer any assistance since our dog had taken a chunk out of their precious (if not, idiotic) pet.

So, Ducque is now a cone head. Remy is on parole. I've threatened his life if he kills again and he seems to have taken it seriously. No carnage today and he's been on his best behavior. Meanwhile, the cats caught a mouse last night (while I was on the phone with my Mom, prompting me to screech, "Goddammit" into the phone, which my Mom chose not to hear, but I still felt guilty. She very religious, you know). The mouse was attempting to flee the two idiot cats and once Remy emerged from the bathroom the poor mouse had mysteriously passed into the afterlife. It was late, I couldn't take any more death. Maybe the mouse fainted and had a heart attack, I told myself as I hucked the carcass into the bushes.
Does owning pets really need to entail this kind of stress? I've decided to just take a deep breath and hope it was just a random weekend killing spree. Seriously, I can't take anymore death, blood, etc. Eat your Iams, eat your Fancy Feast and sleep on the various soft beds we have to offer. This is not survival of the fittest here. Obviously, I wouldn't have done well as a cave woman. Cats, Dogs, behave yourselves! Jonathan and I will grocery shop and get you all the goodies you need! Lie around, act lazy and no more blood. Please?