Our dog, Mia, is officially the worst bird dog ever. Oh, she likes to pretend she’d hunt down a bird and have it for lunch, and she even whines at me to let her out of the house to take care of the pigeons taunting her in our little patch of xeric lawn. But when the rubber meets the road, well, she’s just wants the chance to say hi.
We recently had a very bedraggled bird land just outside our kitchen door. When I spied two pigeons pecking it, I opened the door the shoo them away. Mia just about knocked me over rushing out to join in the melee. The pigeons scattered like the playground bullies they were, but the poor little bird couldn’t move. Wet and terrified, it crouched in anticipation of the large labrador which was about to have it for supper.
I rushed to block the view of my youngest, not wanting him to see the impending carnage when Mia began tearing the feathers from this poor helpless bird as her bird dog instinct kicked in.
Instead, our fearless protector stopped just short of the quaking bird. She then very gently nuzzled and nosed her new friend.
Fearing that the bird might be diseased, I called our now defrocked hunting dog back into the house. She tried to ignore the command, wanting to play with her new friend, but she finally complied when she heard the rattling of the dog treat can. Mia came half way to the door and then looked back – wet bird or dog treat? Dog treat won, and in she came.
The bird is gone, and Mia is back to pretending that she wants to eat the pigeons in the grass.