It's 8:00 a.m. and time for breakfast.
You might remember Duchess from a previous blog.
What's in her mouth? Is it a squirrel? A dead puppy? The baby from A Cry in the Dark?
I call it a Mud McMuffin, and it's her breakfast.
Duchess has the uncanny ability to sniff out houses that have just spent thousands re-sodding their lawn and tears out the largest piece she can possibly carry. Wet sod for her is like dinner at Ruth's Chris for me.
Duchess carries this for the entire walk, or until I instruct her that she can proceed to prepare it for feasting. Preparation consists of vigorously shaking the mud/grass melange until it achieves a nice lightness to it, similar to a wonderfully flakey filo pastry. Then she dines on it in small pieces, being careful not to overload her sensitive digestive system. Her digestion seems fine to me, since she also eats acorns, chestnuts, candy wrappers, bones, deer feces, cars, and the occasional person.
Why don't I remove it from her mouth? Well, later in the day I teach piano, and I need my hands and arms for that.
Don't you get hungry just looking at this?
