It’s a deathmatch!
OK, not really. Grackles can fly. Emma Dog can’t. Those big birds better be glad.
I cleverly spilled about half a cup of Emma Emma Chow on the back porch when I brought her in. I left the interior door open because it’s warm. A minute ago I saw my big orange TJ Cat (the Pack Alpha) sitting by the back screen peering intently out. And then I noticed half a dozen or so big old grackles congregated on the red-brick back porch, obviously scarfing the spilled dog food.
TJ desperately wants to go outside. Much as I hate to thwart his heart’s desire, he doesn’t get to. One of these days when I got to PetsMart for more Emma chow I’ll have to remember to get him a kitty-sized X-harness so we can try walking. But beyond that, no.
As I frequently tell him, “Everything that lives outside would kick your ass.” Which on one level he heeds, because (despite what his Uncle Joe confessed yesterday was the way he liked to think about his boon pal Teej) TJ is not valorous. He’s incredibly smart, perceptive, loving, and perpetually solicitous of his annoying sister, Squeak, whom he raised from a mere four-week old black scrap. But valorous he ain’t.
And in truth the grackles are some big sumbitches. I wouldn’t fancy his chances if they decided not to fly away from his charge.
But as I say, TJ is not permitted to charge creatures outside, no matter how tempting they are. Or impudent.
But Emma, in charge of security for the premises as well as the pack and my person, is a different story. Although lying on her fleece on the couch she noticed impertinent birds invading her domain. So with a guttural buff she materialized at the back door, ready to go.
So I let her go. Unfortunately at her apparition the grackles went. But it gave her the chance to race around the yard and bark and in general show the world she’s a Black Sharpie who means business. So that’s all good.
Even if the grackles just sit in the trees and mock. That’s how they are.
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