Frisco the Toad-Muncher
Jun 16, 2005
Frisco the toad-muncher
Who says an old dog can't teach himself a new trick or two? Tonight, Frisco discovered that, genetically speaking, he comes from a long line of hunters.
We were walking our normal circuit, maybe around midnight or so. We had come to a basketball court in an apartment complex next to a little creek, when suddenly Frisco went all tense. He doubled back, head in a straight line from his spine, nose extended as far in front of himself as it possibly could go. He sniffed around the corner of the basketball court, then up where the fence meets the concrete, then back down again.
He stopped. Ears up, nose to the air, tail silent and still, he stood for a moment, then bolted for the bushes near the mailboxes.
He went back into sniffing mode, surveying the ground like an old-timer with a geiger counter. I saw a toad silhouetted against the pavement. It jumped into the bushes, and Frisco dived in after it.
I laughed: Frisco wouldn't know what to do with a toad, even if he could catch one of those elusive things. I saw him go in a different direction from the one I'd seen the toad hop. He made a few little motions, as if he'd found food in the most improbable place, way back under the bush. Then I heard crunching, as if he'd found a really, really fresh dog biscuit.
I wasn't too worried, but I vaguely wondered: Toads don't crunch, do they?
Just then I saw another little toad, on the opposite side of the mailboxes, hopping into the bushes. Frisco tore in after it -- and soon I heard identical, sickening crunches. I was pretty nauseated, but also oddly proud of my boy.
I called him away from his hunting-grounds, and he followed eagerly, probably expecting me to bring him to even more of those little delicacies. Instead, I whisked him away back home as quickly as I could.
When we got there, he ran immediately over to his treat box, as if I should reward him for being such a good hunter. I balked at first, but then re-thought. After all, do I really want to be smelling toad-breath in my face all night long?
He came in to bed, lay down smugly beside me, let out a giant belch, and went to sleep.
Frisco the toad-muncher
Who says an old dog can't teach himself a new trick or two? Tonight, Frisco discovered that, genetically speaking, he comes from a long line of hunters.
We were walking our normal circuit, maybe around midnight or so. We had come to a basketball court in an apartment complex next to a little creek, when suddenly Frisco went all tense. He doubled back, head in a straight line from his spine, nose extended as far in front of himself as it possibly could go. He sniffed around the corner of the basketball court, then up where the fence meets the concrete, then back down again.
He stopped. Ears up, nose to the air, tail silent and still, he stood for a moment, then bolted for the bushes near the mailboxes.
He went back into sniffing mode, surveying the ground like an old-timer with a geiger counter. I saw a toad silhouetted against the pavement. It jumped into the bushes, and Frisco dived in after it.
I laughed: Frisco wouldn't know what to do with a toad, even if he could catch one of those elusive things. I saw him go in a different direction from the one I'd seen the toad hop. He made a few little motions, as if he'd found food in the most improbable place, way back under the bush. Then I heard crunching, as if he'd found a really, really fresh dog biscuit.
I wasn't too worried, but I vaguely wondered: Toads don't crunch, do they?
Just then I saw another little toad, on the opposite side of the mailboxes, hopping into the bushes. Frisco tore in after it -- and soon I heard identical, sickening crunches. I was pretty nauseated, but also oddly proud of my boy.
I called him away from his hunting-grounds, and he followed eagerly, probably expecting me to bring him to even more of those little delicacies. Instead, I whisked him away back home as quickly as I could.
When we got there, he ran immediately over to his treat box, as if I should reward him for being such a good hunter. I balked at first, but then re-thought. After all, do I really want to be smelling toad-breath in my face all night long?
He came in to bed, lay down smugly beside me, let out a giant belch, and went to sleep.
posted by Unknown at 8:53 PM
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