For the past few months she's been on my case about digging in her flowers. Digging up the yard, she calls it. "What's the matter with you?!" she asks me. Over and over, leading me to a hole, pointing and commanding, "Mikey! Don't dig!"
"Hey, I get it," I try to tell her. "Besides, it's not me. It's those chickens across the road."
But, she doesn't understand. Is it my fault I only speak Dog? I tried a variety of facial expressions, but somehow they always come out as Guilt or Shame. I think she was getting desperate, because last week she poured red pepper flakes in all the holes. "That should do it," I heard her say. Then she dragged me over and practically rubbed my nose in it. Wow, That's Some, Hot, Stuff.
The chickens and one rooster always come over here early in the morning while she's still inside, asleep. They run around the yard clucking, scratching and digging, while the rooster stands nearby, preening and crowing. You'd think the noise would wake her up and she could see for herself. But, by the time she is up, having coffee and inspecting the yard, those chickens are long gone, back where they came from and I'm taking the heat yet again.
The other day, I tried direct action. I left one of those chickens in a pile of feathers. The others took off, flying and squawking. I figured they wouldn't be back soon, if ever. Her? She threw a fit. "Mikey, how could you? She went on and on about "That poor chicken!" and then blamed me, again, for the holes in the yard. If she only knew. By the way -- chicken tastes just like chicken.
For some reason, yesterday she was up early, practically before the sun came out, having her coffee, and like clock-work here came those chickens and the rooster. Scratch, scratch. Dig, dig. "Hey! Get out of my flowers!" she yelled. The chickens looked up at her, then at me, and went back to digging. She grabbed a broom and ran after them. "Go girl," I thought. The chickens flew across the road and the rooster followed right behind,
"Mikey, those chickens have been digging up my flowers," she says to me. "That's what I've been trying to tell you," I try to tell her. We look at each other, and she hands me a bone.
