The yard is full of bogles, says
the pig dog. Sometimes this means he’s
torn apart enemies that looked
like tennis balls. This time, it’s a
coyote helping itself to
cats, rabbits, any small beast in
its path. The pig dog’s instinct is
to befriend, and that’s no good. Not
now. He’s no match for a wily
coyote. ‘Wile E. Coyote -
see what we did there?’ we ask, and
snap the leash onto his collar.
The pig dog hears nature take its
brutish course outside. He used to
have many bunny friends, but they
are in short supply lately. Last
spring, we’d see a dozen a night.
We wouldn’t be surprised if we
saw the lawn littered with bones and
shreds. Even unlucky squirrels, squashed
while running across the road, have
been scraped up and eaten. Not a
scrap left. The enemy, doubled,
trebled, is now unstoppable.
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