Start At The Fingers

First thing this morning, I was feeding Bruno drumsticks. I was listening to his teeth crunch the chicken bones of the drumsticks I held out for him, my fist clenched against his cheek, which made me think if my finger was in his mouth how easily he’d be crunching my bones. 

That led me to think (quantum leap withstanding) that if my friend Jill died in her house and nobody knew, her corgis, which are the most food-centric dogs I have ever met, would eat her. (You know, Jill being… um… er… I’m not exactly sure what the best PC expression is for it? She’s fat) I imagined Bear and Bindi (he two corgis) with a hand each crunching the bones in her fingers. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Funny the things you think squatting on the back veranda feeding your dog chicken legs first thing in the morning. 

So, everything good in Oakleigh? (I text this to Jill)

She replied, Yes well if I died in bed they couldn’t reach me. (Legs too short) Wait – Bear would find a way once she got hungry enough, I’d think. (I’d take that bet) What morbid thoughts for the morning.

Then she sent me a photo entitled potential predator.