Man's Best Friend

Cody stands statuesque on the deck, his hind legs slightly bent and tight like springs ready to uncoil.  With an outstretched neck he peers across the yard.  The cool autumn breeze contradicts the warm sun on my arms and face.   Cody squirms slightly, makes a barely perceptible high pitch whistle, then returns to attention.  I take a sip of my coffee.

By the pond underneath the great pecan I see the pop of a squirrel's feathery tail flickering in the golden dawn light.  With frenetic quickness the squirrel takes a giant pecan in his small hands, spins it, pushes it in the dirt, then shoves it in his mouth.  His face has now become equal parts pecan and squirrel.  I take another sip of my coffee.


"Squirrel!"  I call to Cody.


Instantly Cody's springs uncoil.  His claws scrape against the deck in quick repetition as he bounds and then drives his legs into a full sprint.  For a brief moment the squirrel is blissfully unaware, completely absorbed in his oversized pecan.


Now at full speed Cody hurtles his sixty pounds of squirrel hunting fury at his prey.  The squirrel with a flick of his sun kissed tail having sensed his impending doom seems to levitate then flies horizontally to the small trunk of a nearby Mulberry.  He scuttles to the upper branches then leaps to the safety of the pecan while Cody dances alone underneath in humiliation.


"Ninja squirrel," I mutter to myself.


Cody takes a moment to "mark" the Mulberry and the Pecan in a not so subtle reminder to the squirrels of who is king of the backyard. He then trots back to the deck and sits at attention, gazing into the backyard for more prey.  I take a seat next to him, put my arm around him and take another sip of my coffee.