The Bird and the Window

So, as many of you know (but some may not), I have a veritable zoo living with me.  For those that aren't familiar with the cast of true characters that I share my residence with, here is a rundown:

 

Evie.  My "first born."  She's actually a month younger than Truman but I had her first so she is my first born.  Anyway, she likes eating, getting in your business, and judging you.

 

Truman.  The real first born.  He likes playing games, sitting on your feet, chasing Cherry, and rocking the 80's denim jacket.

 

Shelby.  Consistently voted least favorite because of her tendency to be ridiculously obnoxious.  She does, however, entertain with her constant desire to chase the dogs' tails around the house and her propensity to do back-flips for a feather.  She has dreaded middle child syndrome and as such she requires constant attention and affirmation.

Cherry.  The baby.  The runt.  She certainly has a few screws loose, and she has been quite the adventure to raise.  She enjoys chasing anything, eating anything, and taking naps in really weird positions.  

So, there they are.  From now on when I tell stories about my zoo, you'll know who I'm talking about.  Yesterday was a beautiful day in St. Louis.  It was sunny and the temperature was in the low to mid 60s.  I decided it was a perfect day to open the windows of our loft.  Sadly, we don't have screens on our windows, so I was really careful to only open the window enough where the breeze could come in, but not enough where an animal could cause a problem.  So I thought.  

I go about my business and glance over to the window, and Evie is OUTSIDE on the ledge.  Six stories up.  I thought for sure her fatty butt couldn't squeeze through, but there she was.  I almost had a heart attack.  Meanwhile, she's just walking back and forth across the 4-inch wide ledge like it's no big deal.  I yell "Evie!!!" (not thinking about the possibility of startling her and sending her plummeting to her death) and she just looks at me with her usual judgmental scowl like "is there a problem?"  I run over to the window to help her in and she just squeezes right back through the window no problem.  My cat cheated death!

And then, there was today.  I get off work and get home to take the pups to the park.  The park is right across the street from our building, so it's an easy walk.  We get all leashed up and head over.  The park is pretty busy, which I like, because it means the dogs will actually run instead of chewing on random sticks.  Well when we've been there for a few minutes, I look over and see a flailing pigeon across the park.  My reflexes are too slow as ALL the other dogs in the park have already noticed this too.  They're all poking at it prancing around it.  Then here comes Cherry.  Of course, out of ALL the dogs at the park, MY dog would be the one to actually go there. Before I can stop her, she's got the flailing bird firmly gripped in her jaws and she's trotting around the park with extreme pride in herself.  I pick up my pace to catch her and at that she takes off running.  

Whee look at me!  This is so awesome I can't believe I really got a bird!

Truman, who has been idly watching this whole scene unfold, suddenly takes off after Cherry.  All the other dogs follow in quick succession, and I'm left to chase the ringleader of this entire bird fiasco as she plays keep-away.  The other owners call off their dogs, most of whom listen.  But not mine.  She's transfixed on this creature in her mouth and she's not about to let it go.  So, I continue to chase her, trying to corner her, while Truman happily barks and the other owners leash up their dogs to minimize the madness.  I reach out to grab at anything and I get a wing.  Because I was expecting fur and not feathers, I shriek and let go before I'm left holding JUST a wing.  Cherry takes off again, tail wagging as if this disaster is all some fantastic game and I purposely placed the wounded bird in there for her.  By this point I'm mortified because every other dog has calmed down on their leash and the other owners are either (a) similarly mortified, (b) LAUGHING, or (c) judging me for being unable to catch my dog.  I can feel my excuses flowing out of my mouth like verbal diarrhea..."well, she is a retriever"..."she's still kind of a puppy"..."she likes to run!"  But, I mean when you think about it, all of those are true.  She is a retriever.  Retrieving things is in her blood (nevermind that she didn't actually retrieve it, she ran around it with it)!  Obviously all the other "retrievers" at the park are shitty at their job...right?  

Anyway, after a few minutes of sheer chaos I manage to catch her and release the bird from her vice grip. At this point the bird is just sitting there flapping like a moron and we all have no idea what to do.  Suddenly, this pigeon whisperer homeless guy comes in and gently picks it up and hums to it as he escorts it to safety outside the park fence.  I'm pretty sure the bird needs to be...eliminated.  He's obviously gravely injured.  

After that, the madness slowly died down.  Some owners laughed; some left immediately.  The immediate leavers need to remove the stick from their ass.  I'm sorry my dog ran around with a flapping mad, near dead pigeon in her mouth.  These things happen.  She was quite pleased with herself, and being the good Mom I am, I love to see her boost her self-esteem.  

Anyway.  That was that.  Time to go meet sweet little baby Holden!