Well, the first carnage on display was a lack of corpse: when I walked out my front door, I was greeted by one whole pigeon's worth of feathers, without the pigeon itself. I think that pigeon must have fallen victim to one of the hawks that live in the city. Every time the breeze blew, the feathers swirled, and Dorothy attacked.
On our lunchtime walk, as Dorothy was exchanging greetings with a schnauzer friend, Katie, I realized that Katie and Dorothy's mock wrestling match was taking place inches from a newly dead baby bird. It looked vaguely robin-like, and had clearly fallen from a height above. I bid Dorothy say good-bye to Katie before either discovered the gory treasure.
On my way back to work after lunch, I passed a purple finch that had met its death after trying to fly a shortcut through a picture window.
And then on our after-dinner walk, I almost stepped on a dead squirrel in the park. It seemed like a healthy one, too, in that it wasn't one of the typical city park squirrels around here that are all skin and bones and curse words. This one was plump, and its little hands were all curled into claws. I'm thinking it fell victim to the rat poison that I've been told is rather recklessly placed in the park. Luckily, Dorothy didn't see the squirrel either, as she was too busy eyeing a picnic she thought she might like to join.
To top things off, Dorothy was on her twenty-first kiss of a passer-by who had stopped to greet her, before I realized that said passer-by was at best crazed with drugs. As a general rule, I tend to prefer that Dorothy only make-out with the sober. Or at least the cheerily buzzed. I extricated Dorothy from her still merry embraces and tried to do so without addling the already very addled. And then we scuttled to our doorstep and I fumbled for the keys.
Move over, Dorothy. I'm about to join you under that chair!
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