The Little Pack

This morning started with a serious breakdown. The dogs began to “celebrate” my awakening before I was actually getting up. They would bark and leap off the bed at my slightest movement. Once I finally got up, I came out into the living room to laundry that was strewn from one end of the house to the other. They, and by they, I really mean Cheyenne and Dixie, had taken dirty clothes out of the hamper. They had gotten into the shoes and thankfully settled for carrying them around instead of eating them.  Soon they were chasing each other. Meanwhile, the cats were chasing each other, Archie was eating dog food, Dixie was in the kitchen,woofing and twirling around on her hind legs, begging for breakfast. We let Cheyenne out and almost immediately heard the distinctive ruckus of birds. Which means that a mama bird was defending her young from none other than our beloved Shoo Shoo. I knew I was in for it today before I ever even had a sip of coffee.

When Cheyenne was little, I would get up early and take her for a walk before work. One spring morning before leaving the yard, she very intently sniffed the ground in a particular spot repeatedly. Before I could think this was strange, she scooped up a baby bird in her mouth. The baby was so young that it still had downy feathers. Seemingly out of nowhere, her parents appeared, squawking and flapping their wings. Meanwhile, I completely stressed out, asking her to drop it, drop it, for Pete’s sake Cheyenne please drop that thing and not so silently pleading with God to please let the baby bird live. Have I mentioned I am not a morning person? It’s 5 in the morning, I haven’t had any coffee, I can barely comprehend what is happening and now there is a newborn animal in peril because of my dog. Perfect. Of course, the baby bird has a sibling and of course Cheyenne notices that one too. She finally drops the bird which is still moving and we go on our way. The entire way I pray that the little bird lives. I hope to wear her out enough to forget about the baby birds. She doesn’t. I am pretty sure that there is no adventure in the world exciting enough to make Cheyenne forget about something this special.

On the way back, I keep her on a ridiculously short leash past the baby birds all the way to the door. For the next week, we supervise her every step, but she does manage to get the bird one more time. My husband chases her around the yard and the poor thing ends up clear across the yard from where it began. We go out to check on it a few times and somehow, it survives. We wait several more days to let her in the yard off leash and sure enough, when we do, we hear the tell tale signs of squalling birds and high pitched, desperate chirps. I run to the window and see a literal flock of birds dive-bombing and attacking her. Panicked, I run outside–how much can the poor little thing’s heart take?? However, this time there is no baby bird. The other birds have remembered that Cheyenne represents danger and have decided to retaliate. She looks slightly bewildered at all the ruckus and I simultaneously laugh and feel satisified that she is getting what she deserves.