I have a cat (well, I do when I’m at home. Not at college) named Mattie. He’s a lovely cat, but also a very competent hunter. Problem is, we have quite a large amount of land, populated with rabbits, mice, pigeons, the occasional pheasant, ducks. It’s a predators wet dream. He’s frequently bringing us mice and rabbits, though he’s only ever brough us one duck (it was a duckling). We quickly disabused him of the notion that ducklings were food (I don’t remember the details, but he was not a happy cat). The real shocker though was when he came bounding in through the kitchen door… dragging a pheasant with him. Aside from the fact that the thing was twice his size, we liked those pheasants. They were pretty, they wandered around one of our fields looking happy, and were generally quite friendly.
My father then plucked and cooked the pheasant and my family (sans me - I wasn’t a vegetarian yet, but there was no way in hell I would be eating a bird that was almost a pet) ate it the next day. But that’s a different story.
I mean, I love my cats to death, but I do recognize the fact that, by their very nature, they are brutal, nasty, cruel and inhumane killers. Cats torture their prey, allowing them to die slowly, playing with them, etc.
When my dog, on the other hand, has caught mice, she simply broke their necks.
See, my parents’ female dog can’t be bothered with small critters like baby possums and mice and so forth. (Well, okay, except for the baby bunny incident, but then again they were in HER garage, so it’s mama bunny’s fault. Really.)
Nope.
She’s a skunk hunter.
And I tell y’all…you just ain’t lived until you’ve lived with a skunk huntin’ dawg. Nothing like the scent of freshly skeered skunk at three in the mornin’, combined with the heaving sound of a dog that’s just taken a full skunk-load point-blank in the face. Mmmmm.
And it was bad enough when she was an only dog. Now that they’ve the boy dog it’s twice as bad, because whatever Nana does Lucky’s got to do, too.
On the plus side, we’ve discovered that three-week old skunk scent + rosemary (she also hunts the rosemary bush. This, we have not figured out) would make a pretty decent perfume. Go figger.
Stoid, was it you that had the thread about naming the dog? I remember Winston was the name they decided on for that [part?] Golden Retriever. Was it you and is this the same dog you’re talking about?
Sorry if I’m not remembering correctly; I’m just curious.
Yep, twas me and twas Winston who did the dastardly deed.
Found him a really terrific home today at our monthly adoption event. Spent the whole day with the couple and Winston, figuring out if it was the right fit and I really think it is. He’s going to be hiking and playing Frisbee and sleeping with them at night. Can’t beat that.
A bird flew at full speed into a window, then collapsed onto the floor. It was still alive but very messed up. We took it into my garden, placed a plank of wood carefully on it’s head, and then wham! , we (I) kicked down on the plank.
It was a hard thing [emotionaly] to do, But It was the righ thing. Funny, it didn’t feel like the right thing.
You think hunting skunk is bad? My cat confused a skunk for his girlfriend-cat once. He tried to mate with Pepe LePeu, and Pepe gave old stupid quite the shower before he got the point.
Of course, this did not stop him from trying the maneuver again the very next time he had a case of mistaken identity.
Eventually he did learn that black and white fur did not equal girlfriend, and he’d wait for the suspected paramour to meow first.
However, from this experience I learned that a cat being given a bath is the deadliest animal known to man, and they CAN climb solid concrete walls with nothing other than their claws.
Catsix, I dunno if cats can climb concrete with their claws when you’re trying to bathe them, but I do know from experience that they only need a single clawhold to climb one’s scalp during a bath. Owwwwwww…
I gotta ask, though: how on earth did old stupid get to try this trick a second time? Why’s he still got those totally harmful little balls hanging underneath of him? Get the to a veterinarian!
I’ve killed animals twice. When I was 15, I was walking by a road when I saw a raccoon get run over. I stupidly dragged it out of the road and tried to see if I could do anything for it; of course, I couldn’t. Eventually I broke its neck by twisting it in my bare hands. I still shudder at the memory.
And once I found a baby bird outside of the nest; when I couldn’t figure out how to feed it, I stupidly decided that killing it quickly was the best alternative. Now I know better, and feel pretty guilty about doing that.
