I have become an accessory to murder. This is Jacques, digging madly, looking for mice, in a spot I pointed out to him. I guess he figures where there is one mouse, there could be a zillion of them.
He basically mashed the little guy to death, the way he mashes his squeak toys. Then he just moved on. Maybe he was disappointed that the guy didn’t squeak. Dunno, but I may have created a sociopath.
Look, he has just moved on, in search of another victim. My cute little dog, looking good in what is about to become his famous blue raincoat, is a serial killer. All my railing about cats has fallen on deaf ears. It’s not just the cats who weren’t listening.
Can I claim I just didn’t know, like a driver of a getaway car? Didn’t even know the little white dog, just seen him around a couple of times?Would I then have to admit I was just out planting poppy seeds? Yes, That kind of poppy seeds, so maybe I’m becoming a drug lord, too? Maybe I should say yes, we did those things, and I do fervently hope the poppies come up, but it’s not who we are. Would anyone believe any of that?
Oh, my. I guess the best I can hope for is that the owls will find the carcass, make a free meal of it.
Clearly Jacques doesn’t care, as long as he can keep going. But first, the mug shot.