The face of terror

There is a monster living in our house.

Black and sleek, with nasty, pointy, teeth, it lurks, waiting to deal out death and carnage. Indeed, evidence of its implacable thirst for death was left for me when I returned from Los Angeles late Wednesday night, perhaps left in tribute.

Behold, the face of death!


Fear her! Do not rouse her slumber!





Oh, no! Too late! (Note the eyes glowing with Satanic evil!)


Actually, as you probably figured out, that’s our dog. She’s the sweetest, lovingest dog in the world, gentle and, as you can see, greatly appreciative of a comfortable spot to take a pleasant snooze. My wife and I both love her dearly. She’s about as harmless as a dog could be.

Unless you’re a bunny.


To bunnies, she is the Goddess of Death, come to wreak horrible carnage on the bunny world, with an utterly insatiable thirst for bunny blood. Indeed, were bunnies less stupid creatures than they are (and boy are they stupid, given that they routinely build nests in our yard, in one case doing so a couple of feet from our dog’s favorite place to poop), I could picture them praying to her to try to stave off her horrible vengeance. Every year, several times a year, my wife or I find evidence of this blood lust left in our backyard somewhere, often on the deck in the backyard. Whenever we think there might be rabbits out in our yard, we try to keep an eye on her when we let her out to do her business, but every so often our vigilance wanes, and, a few times each year, particularly in the spring, when the rabbits are starting to become more active, she will claim her victims.

I had hoped that this year might be different. Our dog is over seven now, and she’s starting to slow down noticeably. But apparently the site of her prey is enough to rouse her from her increasing somnolence to brief sprints of the speed of her youth, long enough to corral a rabbit before it can find a spot where it could escape under our fence to live another day.

This year was no different.

And, on Wednesday night, our Goddess of Bunny Death brought yet another tribute to her pack leader (me, I guess), the largest tribute in a long time. It was a large, adult rabbit. We knew something was up when she came back into the house, her head covered in light-colored fur. I hadn’t thought she was still capable of catching a healthy adult rabbit, but she was. In a way, it’s impressive how her speed and instincts are still good enough to accomplish this kill.

But we do get tired of finding rabbit carcasses, especially at 1:30 AM on a weeknight.

Maybe an intervention from Cesar Milan is indicated.