Ever since I can remember, every fall, there has been this amazing opportunity when Dad brings a large bird in from his office. I call this “Bird Day.” Dad calls his office a “Casita” now because he thinks he has adapted to our new Spanish New Orleans town but he is always sort of weird about stuff like that. My names are better. Anyway, I digress.
Clemmie and I would always know the bird was out there in his fridge and we were on extra alert whenever he went to get it, in case he realized he should give it to us. Or, in case he dropped it. Or, perhaps, tripped over some short hounds of his acquaintance. Smudge often helped in these endeavors. She could be quite devious with her purring and pretending to want to be petted all the while wrapping herself around Dad’s paws.
The other great thing about bird day is that usually the whole family is around. This used to be a lot better before Hank and Hattie. But still, most of the time they are banished and I have run of the family. Not today though. I am behind bars and on the stairs.
Your Host Behind Bars
So Mom tricked us this year and kept the bird in the house the whole time. I did my best to get close enough to trip her but the puppies are here (again!) and since I was upstairs banished, I missed my opportunity. Winston is not pleased.
Idiot Bassetbarians at the Gate
If those idiot puppies would just get out of my way, they could have helped me get the bird but instead they settled for Pupparonis. I’m not sure if I am going to be able to sneak in and sit next to Dad at dinner but I am hopeful that I might have a chance to get that durn bird yet.
Elmer Fudd Winston!