Primal Instinct

We had a near-catastrophe at our house yesterday. We're all safe, but Buster may fly a little crooked for awhile.

Paul's parents were over for Easter dinner, and had with them their little mutt, Sophie. I'd forgotten that, in a moment of temporary insanity, I'd agreed to keep her here for two weeks while they traveled. Normally I love dogs. Ask anyone. But Sophie? She's just a little too snooty for my tastes. I mean, look at her. I was waving a marrow bone above her head, trying to get her to look at the camera, and she shot me this "how dumb do you think I am?" expression. Anyway, yesterday Sage got out the birds, as she does about, oh, a million times a day, to hold them, pet their feathers, let them preen her hair. Well, all he!! broke loose around Sage, who started screaming like she was on fire. Feathers were flying, dogs were barking. When the dust settled, Sage scooped up poor Buster from the floor, where Sophie had apparently spit him out, after deciding he didn't make a very appetizing Easter meal. I guess Sophie saw Sage holding Buster, made a leap for him and got him by the tail feathers. He's now about 8 feathers short of a whole bird.

It's gonna be a long two weeks.