“What Kind of Dog is He?”
Updated: Nov 26, 2020
“Dunno,” I tell them. “Dachshund and some sort of terrier, I think.” I got Clark from the West Valley Animal Shelter about a year-and-a-half ago and his genetic make-up is a mystery. But today he may have provided a clue.
I re-purposed vertical blinds from the house and stapled them horizontally to the bottom foot-or-so of the chicken coop to keep the girls from kicking things out onto the concrete. This morning, I saw Clark pawing furiously at a bumped-out portion of the blinds.
I immediately corrected him and began kicking the blinds gently with my foot. “See? There’s nothing there, man, relax. Nothing oh!” A tail flailed between the blinds. “I guess there is something there!” I started walking toward the garage, uncertain what I needed, but feeling like that was the best place to go while deciding what to do.
Suddenly I heard squealing.
Oh crap. I ran toward the noise and saw Clark with a rat in his mouth, pinned to the concrete. Ahh crap. “Let go!” I told him, still uncertain what I planned to do. He let go and the rat lay still, still alive. “Leave it alone,” I told him, as I moved a few steps to the garage to get a square-nosed shovel.
“You’re a good boy. That’s just really, really gross.”
With Clark watching, I placed the shovel on the rat’s neck and pressed firmly to kill it as quickly as possible. Then I took Clark in the house, checked him for bites, and wiped his mouth out with a washcloth. The latter was for my benefit. And having done that made me feel a little better when I absent-mindedly let him lick my face 10 minutes later.
So, what kind of dog is Clark? Perhaps I’ll start adding Rat Terrier to the list of possible ingredients.