The Great White Hunter

Look at those legs.
Built for speed.

They look harmless. Innocent. Like they wouldn't hurt a fly. And they're lazy. For the most part, they sleep. Pretty much all day.

But, deep down, there beats the heart of a great hunter in each and every Greyhound.

Wood Chuck = Garden Enemy = Greyhound Snack

Diverting a bit from the world of "chicks," I thought I'd share with you my hound's conquest today.

Here it is, or, there it was. When it was alive:


Now, the tomatoes can breathe a sigh of relief. Thanks to Bruno. The wild, white beast of Westport.

Guarding the garden, as only a dog can do, he spotted the whiskered menace, long before I did, stealthily approaching our burgeoning vegetables.

Bruno froze, poised, ears forward. Alert.

Nothing can escape this nose.

"What's that brown thing?" I wondered aloud.

"It's an animal," Brie replied.




Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted our furry-friend-turned-fierce-predator, ready to launch.

"Oh." I remarked. "That's a dead animal."

"No, Mom, it's alive!"

"Just watch, Brie."

And then... the attack. It was over in less than 3 seconds.

"I only look like a couch potato."

In Flight

Bruno pranced back, victorious, a flailing rodent clutched in his powerful jaws. He was intent on bringing his prize "home."

"No, no, Bruno." I cooed. "There, there. Good boy."


He dropped the now still carcass at my feet, and gazed up at me, eyes shining with pride, an expression that said, "Look, Mom, look what I did!"

Shoveling the deceased creature into a paper bag, and giving it a proper burial, (aka the trash can) a few minutes later, I contemplated the poor critter's brief stay on this planet. I guess he had a good, little woodchuck's life. Until today.

I shared with Brie and Brandon... "You see, this is why we will never, ever free range the hens when the hounds are outside."

Faithful Friend...

"Agreed." They nodded in unison.

The hounds lick their lips, and plot...

"Mmmmm... Chicken..."

"Which way did they go?"

Better run fast, girls!