We have a little bird nest by our front door, on top of a wreath that has been there without inhabitants for the last couple of years. I wouldn’t have noticed it except that a bird flew out of it when I walked out the door with my dogs today.
Unfortunately, Ace noticed the little fledgling too. And caught it mid-flight (I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen it myself), breaking it’s little bones in his mouth.
I was, of course, HORRIFIED.
I shoved him in the house as another bird flew unsteadily out of the nest. I turned my attention back to the fledgling on the ground, wondering if there was time to race it to a local wildlife center (it would not be my first trip). But as I pondered this, the baby bird took it’s last gasps right in front of me, moving me to tears as the mama bird squawked from my roof.
I felt horrible, responsible for this incident. Yes, I realize it is one of many, many wild birds on my property, but I think the combination of the mother watching, and the fact that the perpetrator was a small, domestic dog (with one eye, mind you) who neither needed, nor would have been allowed, to eat it really got to me.
Despite being the sweetest, most gentle soul around people, this pug has a taste for blood. I, for one, am not amused.
And the insult to the injury is that while I tended to the sweet little fledgeling, Ace proceeded to chew up a magazine and empty every trash can in the house, leaving the detritus throughout.
This comes on the heels of bad behavior yesterday. While being left in my husband’s car for less than 5 minutes, he devoured an unopened package of Goldfish crackers, a cereal bar, and an unopened package of seasoned nuts. And then he had the nerve to barf IN our bed (not on it) last night and torture us with his putrid flatulence.
Who the hell does he think he is anyway??