I don't think Murphy has gotten closer than 2 feet to a squirrel, but he knows he hates those little fluffy rodents. I assume it's hate. It's hate or love. He could love them so much he needs to catch them in his mouth and hug them with his jaws. Yeah, so he loves them, but I don't think he understands them.
Why are they always in trees? or near trees? or on the fence? or on a telephone wire? why aren't they down on the ground where he can get them.
These questions may never be answered.
Each morning Murphy darts out the back door to the back of the yard where there is always some jerk of a squirrel hanging in a tree. Murphy runs to leaps once, grunts at it and then takes a crap. By the time Murphy is grunting the squirrel is in another yard doing stupid squirrel things.
Maybe one day Murphy will be able to hug a squirrel in his jaws just like he does in his dreams.
No comments:
Post a Comment