Ill-behaved Bird Dog

A few weeks ago Martyn and I were doing yard work out back when we happened upon a small headless bird below the deck. Marty wanted to throw it in the lawn and leaf bag that was full and headed to the curb for pickup, but I insisted upon a proper burial under the rose bush in the side yard.

Two days later, another bird was found outside the back door - again headless.

Over dinner at my parents’ house the following night, we brought up this phenomenon and posited our assumption that Joey may be responsible. My niece Liz seemed to think that bird flu was to blame; while my father’s odd conjecture was that a neighbor had thrown them over the fence into our yard. I hardly believed either of these hypotheses and promptly decided to put the sightings out of mind.

However, this afternoon I caught our culprit in the act:

"Yes! Finally caught up to you!"

"Hey, why'd ya stop moving?"

"Whatsa' matter?  You don't want to play?"

Although I sure wasn't pleased, I know my Great Grandpa Wright --who bred and raised German Shorthairs and hunted them-- would have likely been proud as could be.