HanktheDog Blog

Some dogs, I've noticed, hold little regard for the sky. Planes go by and they take no notice. A heron soars and they remain blase. Even human objects thrown - sticks, tennis balls, floppy discs - are regarded with almost cat-like disdain by these aerially challenged canines.

Well, I have my flaws, but a nonchalance for the denizens of the great above is not among them. From the time I was a pup, I've been a watcher of airplanes and blimps and those terrifying helicopter things flying low over the rooftops. I often stop and stare and wonder.

Maybe it comes of being a born bird dog. But I also think it's been honed by my experiences. I remember walking off-leash down the sidewalk with Molly one balmy morning, just taking in the neighborhood, when - WHAM! - a squirrel smashed into the sidewalk not eight feet in front of us. Now, I'm usually a great fan of squirrel chasing, but this was unexpected and rather appalling. I mean, that squirrel must have fallen 25 feet out of the top of a palm tree! It just lay there, its tail over its body, unmoving. I looked at Molly and she me, neither of us quite knowing what to do. I approached it slowly with Molly saying, "Are you sure that's a good idea?" I took that as a note of caution but not objection. I reached out my muzzle and gave it a hesitant sniff.

I suppose a wild dog would have jumped on his advantage, making a snack of the wounded prey right there. But we househounds are a tad less decisive. Just then, my nose still in his tail fur, the squirrel suddenly popped back into consciousness, wobbled over to a tree trunk and began to climb in a zigzagging, dazed fashion.

Maybe squirrels have more than one life, just like cats. Got to admit, I've felt a little more respect for those lithe, chattering, scattering beasties since then. Still, I wonder about what kind of taste would have gone with that smell. I'll always remember the roadkill not taken.

And just the other day, we had another close encounter of the squirrelly kind. Again, I was with Molly walking down sidewalk when, SPLAT, a half-eaten orange dropped right smack in front of us. The weird thing is, there wasn't an orange tree in sight. It seems some squirrel had hauled the fruit up an oak tree, had breakfast, and then decided to bombard us with the remains.

Was he aiming for us? Just trying to scare us? Perhaps. Or maybe it was the same squirrel as before, trying to share his breakfast in gratitude for the fact I didn't jump on his clumsy butt the time he plummeted to the sidewalk. I don't know, and unless he starts blogging I'm unlikely to find out. But this I do know: it pays to look up. Cause you just never, ever know what kind of nutty stuff might drop in out of the blue.