Well, it was inevitable. DH takes Otto out to the farm on a regular basis and there are hundreds, literally hundreds of gophers everywhere! The coyotes are
very well fed. Anyway, a couple gophers tempted fate and Otto had two notches in his belt when he came home. DH nicknamed him "The Gophinator". I
asked if he had eaten them (horrified of course) and it turns out he did not. Just tasted them ALOT.
So then yesterday, I was home doing some book work and decided to go and stretch my legs so I headed out to the field behind our house. Otto ran and chased the multitudes of gophers that love to tease him out there. They whistle a warning and he hears them all! He is too big to be fast, so I was not at all concerned because in the end of it all, DH had assisted in the assassinations the day before, so I never thought that Otto could do it on his own. Well, I was very, very wrong.
Otto found a gopher hole and started to dig. I laughed and called out "Good luck big buddy! You'll be digging for a month of Sundays before you luck out and get one of them!" Suddenly, his massive head raised out of the hole he was digging and to my horror, there was something in his mouth. He held it up to the heavens as if in worship and chomped. I clutched my chest and yelled "Noooooooooo! Ohhhhhhhhh noooooooooo! Drop it! Leave it!!!" and ran. Otto did exactly as he was told and looked at me like I had grown a third eye.
I hustled him back to the yard, locked him in the gate and ran back to the injured party. He lay on his back, eyes closed and in his final death throws, waved his little furry paws back and forth as if to say "farewell blue sky......." and took his last breath. I continued to dance around him clutching my chest moaning "Noooooooo! Ohhhhhhhhhh Noooooooo!" I wanted to poke him to make sure he was dead and not suffering, but his wet fur and ravaged body told the tale. He was in that big grassland in the sky where predators like Otto are not allowed to be. So then I looked in the hole that Otto had been digging at, and there was a gopher hole started and in it was a little brown furry butt wiggling and underneath it was poofing dirt. The other one (who knew?) was frantically digging trying to get to safety. I yelled "It's ok! He is locked up in the fence!"
I know that I will have nightmares about that. I just know it.
Why do dogs have to do that? Now he is on the trail of skunk on our morning walks. Me thinks me may be in a lot of trouble............
So then yesterday, I was home doing some book work and decided to go and stretch my legs so I headed out to the field behind our house. Otto ran and chased the multitudes of gophers that love to tease him out there. They whistle a warning and he hears them all! He is too big to be fast, so I was not at all concerned because in the end of it all, DH had assisted in the assassinations the day before, so I never thought that Otto could do it on his own. Well, I was very, very wrong.
Otto found a gopher hole and started to dig. I laughed and called out "Good luck big buddy! You'll be digging for a month of Sundays before you luck out and get one of them!" Suddenly, his massive head raised out of the hole he was digging and to my horror, there was something in his mouth. He held it up to the heavens as if in worship and chomped. I clutched my chest and yelled "Noooooooooo! Ohhhhhhhhh noooooooooo! Drop it! Leave it!!!" and ran. Otto did exactly as he was told and looked at me like I had grown a third eye.
I hustled him back to the yard, locked him in the gate and ran back to the injured party. He lay on his back, eyes closed and in his final death throws, waved his little furry paws back and forth as if to say "farewell blue sky......." and took his last breath. I continued to dance around him clutching my chest moaning "Noooooooo! Ohhhhhhhhhh Noooooooo!" I wanted to poke him to make sure he was dead and not suffering, but his wet fur and ravaged body told the tale. He was in that big grassland in the sky where predators like Otto are not allowed to be. So then I looked in the hole that Otto had been digging at, and there was a gopher hole started and in it was a little brown furry butt wiggling and underneath it was poofing dirt. The other one (who knew?) was frantically digging trying to get to safety. I yelled "It's ok! He is locked up in the fence!"
I know that I will have nightmares about that. I just know it.
Why do dogs have to do that? Now he is on the trail of skunk on our morning walks. Me thinks me may be in a lot of trouble............
.
Nancy
