Maniacal mutt bends the minds of bushy tails

It is presently the season of love for squirrels in these parts. That means our already plentiful neighborhood population will very soon grow exponentially, at which point the varmints will be doing stupid squirrel stuff at a nearly incalculable rate.

With history as the truest predictor of future behavior, the bushy-tailed rats will dig up my blueberry seedlings, clip off my young bean plants and eat every one of my mulberries the minute they grow ripe.

As the bushy-tailed vermin engage in these activities, my ever-faithful mutt Frankie will watch from the back porch steps, ignoring each and every transgression. Those who don’t know him better might imagine Frank to be either completely disinterested in the species or just plain hound-dog lazy. What they fail to realize about this particular character is that above his droopy jowls and between those floppy ears lies the mind of a maniacal genius.

The wily hound, who is actually too risk-averse to engage a living squirrel in battle, instead spends his days attempting to telepathically convince the squirrels to wander across the overhead web of electrical wires and onto the transformer mounted atop the pole near our driveway. If he can convince one of the furry vermin to accidentally close the circuit of 7,200 volts by using its body as a fuse, the battle is won without a single shot fired. Furthermore, the toasted tidbit that falls to the ground is far more delightful than anything his masters serve up from the kibble bin on the back porch.

Several times a year, Frank’s dream comes true, either in front of our own home or along our regular 2-mile walking route about the neighborhood, and the dog is forever on the lookout for the fallout of these events. If one is not vigilant, in the very blink of an eye, a dog walker may find themselves faced with two equally ghastly options: either working to pry a smoked squirrel carcass from the jowls of an insanely determined connoisseur of the delicacy or simply allowing the dog to gulp it down with disgusting glee.

My wife recently faced this decision as Frank jerked the leash to scoop a petrified deadfall from the devil strip just a block from our house. Stiff as a leather shoe, the squirrel had cashed out sometime during the winter and undergone a freeze-dry process of sorts.

Screaming and quite likely gagging, Kristin attempted to extract the carcass from the dog’s mouth with hands gloved in poop bags from her pocket. Frank wasn’t having it and was so intent on maintaining possession that he wouldn’t even risk a repositioning of the corpse, which hung out both sides of his drooling snout.

They walked through the neighborhood like this, the woman spouting harsh words and the dog grinning triumphantly until arriving at our backyard water hose, where Kristin aimed a quick blast at the dog’s clenched teeth. The standoff ended almost instantly, but for a bit of gagging and whimpering on the part of the woman as she carried the remains to the trash can with bagged hands.

Frankie was disappointed, to say the least, but seemed to find peace in the chatter of a pair of squirrels in a nearby tree. The math says he’ll have plenty more chances this season.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.