And this is what I opened the door to see two days ago.My dog, Lance, is a black Chow Chow. By all human standards a good dog. He had a tough life which included many years on the streets of Newark killing to eat. So, it is in his, shall we say, blood. I knew that when I adopted him. However, he is amazing with kids and people - quite opposite from a typical Chow who is very dominant and possessive and protective of their people and homes. Not Lance. He just kills "things" when he gets out. Needless to say, we don't let him out without a leash. However, in his old age, he has become like Houdini escaping from this house. I love what my mother calls it when he bolts out the door. She says he runs out of here like a "ruptured duck". That could be a whole other blog but suffice it to say, Eric and I have never seen a ruptured duck run, but I will take her word for it.
So, two days ago the children and I were leaving to go to school and out that door he went - like a "ruptured duck"...the only problem with that is the only thing ruptured in the end was a deer - AGAIN. Now Lance is fat and he is old. Chows average life span is 8-10 years. Lance will be 11 this November. I am absolutely convinced that we will have the oldest Chow on record. With my luck, he will live to be 18! However, Lance isn't too fat or too old or too slow for that matter to not catch a deer!
When he runs, he runs and doesn't come home for awhile. When he does come home, he lays around the front steps but when someone opens the door to let him in, he runs away again. This goes on all day. So the last time when I opened the door to let him in, he turned around and looked at me and started wagging his tail...like he was proud of himself, happy, something. Not like him at all. I walked down one stair wondering why he hadn't run and then I saw it. A deer leg...chewed off and left there as a prize. Almost like the murderer who keeps something from the kill as a trophy. When I saw it, I shot "the look" at Lance, at which point, he bolted like duck that was running for his life. I walked back in the house, slammed the door, and lost my head. "That =+%$#@#@ DOG! He @#%^$%# did it again! He killed another deer and left the @##@ leg on the stoop!". Oh man, I blew a gasket! So, what was I supposed to do with this leg on my stoop? Well, of course, what any other wife would do. I picked it up by the hoof, carried it to Eric's work bench outside in the garage and left it there for him to figure out what to do with it.
Now, as far as I was concerned, Lance was going to spend the night out there in the rain until the blood was washed clean from his furry fat head! But Eric, being WAY more compassionate than I am, let him in and washed him off himself. No way! Not me! With all that said, it has been three days since this happened. Today is Thursday and tomorrow is garbage day. The deer leg is still on the work bench in the garage smelling quite ripe I might add. I am hoping it makes it to the woods or at least the garbage can tomorrow. Before we know it, the vulchers will be breaking into our garage to eat the decaying carcass!
Until next time...
