 | This is Mac. Small. Craps a lot. Noisy. But damn cute. |
This is the old night-time coop in the duck pen. Phoebe and Mike are in the foreground. Mike is a girl. (This is a gender statement, not a comment on Mike's throwing ability,)
This is the flash new coop my husband built. He even varnished it.
It opens into the fenced pen, but the back of it is in the general yard.
It opens into the fenced pen, but the back of it is in the general yard.
This is the back. On Mac's first night in the coop one of the beagles dug a hole here. Not so big a beagle could climb into the coop. But big enough for a curious duckling to wriggle out. (Can you guess where this story is going yet?)
We searched. And called. The clever beagle knew just what we were looking for., and proudly retrieved him from where he'd left him.
(The hole has now been filled and concrete is setting.)
We searched. And called. The clever beagle knew just what we were looking for., and proudly retrieved him from where he'd left him.
(The hole has now been filled and concrete is setting.)
This is where Mac is now. And before you put your judgy hat on... no, we didn't bury him a nice resting place in the garden, because a) if we did that the damn beagle would dig him up again, and b) he was a duck, not a great-aunt.
This is the beagle.
Tried.
Found guilty.
Jailed.
Tried.
Found guilty.
Jailed.
This is us.
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