My dog has figured out how to hunt squirrels indoors. And to clarify, yes, the squirrels are outdoors. I discovered this about 4 weeks ago when fall got serious with its intentions. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that I finally figured it out about two weeks ago after wondering if she’d suddenly acquired a new form of doggy OCD manifesting in the need to look out every window in the house sequentially.

Ah, but the proof of my Catholic education finally kicked in through my power of observation. She isn’t obsessed with the windows themselves, but what they reveal. She is searching. For them. The squirrels (they are evil and must be destroyed, you know). From inside the house, where it is warm.

First comes the scouting phase, traveling from window to window, constantly on the lookout. As soon as the threat is spotted, she stalks them, moving stealthily, presciently, accurately predicting their next move. If they’re across the street, she freezes and waits. If they deign to cross the street, either via the asphalt or the squirrel highway above, she starts to shake. Should they jump from the fence into they yard, then all bets are off. She knows which outside door leads to the part of the yard containing the bushy-tailed demon. I am notified in no uncertain terms that EVIL HAS ARRIVED! I must let her OUT NOW to DESTROY THE INTRUDER! NOW!

Which I do because I am a sucker. I open the requisite door (oh yes, she lets me know which one) and she slowly creeps outside. No joke. There is no running, barking, jumping nonsense. She crouches, creeps, stalks, walks on tippy-toe. And freezes. And waits.

Now of course, these rodents are on to her. She’s lived in the neighborhood a while now, and they talk. She’s killed two of them in the past, and the survivors have LONG memories. They just hop onto the fence and run off. And she comes back to the door and lets me know it’s time to start again.

For you see, my dog is an Oregonian. A true Portlander, she’s adapted her favorite pastime to account for the weather. And as an (almost) native Portlander, I’m all about the pleasing. The going along to get along. And not being ruled by the weather, because the dog’s the one in charge.