Killer, aka Tate

We have a puppy dog.

Isn't he cute? This is him last week waiting for Josh to come home. He spent a while scratching at our bedroom door because he thought Josh was in there. After he got in our room and realized Josh was NOT home, he set up camp perched on the couch staring at the front door. So sweet.

It's been SOOOOOO hot here that he has been inside more during the day than usual. Tate, per the vet, is supposed to play outside because he is curious and hungry. In a Biggest Loser sort of lifestyle change several months ago, Tate had to go from a milk bone loving couch potato to an inside/outside rawhide eating active dog.

It worked quickly and he is back at a healthy weight and is happy and calmer when he is inside because he has run himself out.

Since it is so hot, I have brought him in more than usual and cuddled him more and got in his face more with that weird baby/puppy talk telling him what a good puppy dog he is oh yes he is he is. (You get the idea.) But yesterday, he broke the one rule that gets his wagging tail thrown in his crate or back outside (going in Sascha's room while she is asleep). It was looking like we might get a BIG afternoon thundershower, so I thought he should go outside and use the facilities (aka, the grass) and then I would bring him back in when it started raining--kill 2 birds with one stone--consequence and potty break.

A little while later, it started raining and I opened the back door and called for him.

No Tate.

I went on to the deck and yelled for him.

No Tate.

I started to get worried that he had found an escape hole, so I put some shoes on and went into the yard.

Still. No. Tate.

And right before I started to panic, he popped out from under the little deck by the downstairs door with . . . ugh, I am still queasy and shuddering . . . AN ANIMAL OF SOME SORT HANGING FROM HIS MOUTH!!!!!

I screamed, he ran. And for the next several minutes, I chased him around our back yard yelling "NO, TATE!! DROP IT! DROP IT!!"

Apparently, he thought I WANTED his catch for myself (I SO DID NOT) so he kept running away and would go places he knew I couldn't get to him.

It looked like a chipmunk maybe. It was too big to be a mouse. (Yay?) We have a gajillion rabbits in the neighborhood (now I really get that saying about breeding like rabbits), so maybe it was a baby rabbit. I almost don't care . . . I am just SO SO SO SO grossed out.

I could hardly look at him last night. I made him eat 2 spearmint teeth cleaning bones.

GAG. GAG. GAG.

Now I am trying to figure out how to make my backyard unfriendly to all small animals and snakes so that he won't eat anything but the Beneful Playful Life I serve him twice a day (and whatever food the kids leave on their plates).