A Night to Remember With Libby

It started out as a normal Friday evening for Mom and me. My husband Randy was out playing a gig and we had settled in to watch some television. Yes, not very exciting–or so we thought.

The clues began when our terrier, Libby, seemed especially agitated. Instead of hopping onto our laps and sleeping like normal, she kept walking around and sniffing everything. “What’s with her,” I asked my mother. Libby couldn’t seem to relax.

She’d already gone out several times, which she likes to do on warm nights. Although on a long leash, she loves sniffing the summer air, snuffing for toads among the rocks, or barking at God knows what in the woods.

But this night, after coming in for the third time, Libby couldn’t stay put.

“What is it?” I kept asking. The dog would sit for a while and gaze at me with that strange, manic look dogs get, eyes bright and wide, mouth stretched into a big smile with tongue hanging out. But then, she’d jump up and trot into our living room. She’d come back and sit before me, as if expecting something.

“It’s like she wants you to follow,” Mom said.

I finally sighed and rose from the chair. ‘Okay, Libby, what do you have to show me?”

Libby immediately ran to our sofa in the living room and sniffed at one of the throw pillows. Thinking I’d find a gnawed-on chew bone she’d hidden, I picked up the pillow and gasped.

A dead chipmunk lay there.

“Oh my God!” I yelled. “Mom, come here!”

My poor mother, probably fearing we’d found the long-missing body of Jimmy Hoffa, came warily into the living room. I pointed to the chipmunk. “What do I do?”

“Get rid of it,” Mom said, matter-of-factly. Good idea.

Trying not to gag, I grabbed a bunch of paper towels, wrapped the poor chipmunk inside, and flung its body into the woods.

Coming back in, I threw the paper towels away, but then had to play detective. “Libby, did you kill the chipmunk or just find the body and bring it in?” The terrier stared up at me, clearly deciding to keep crime details to herself. She probably also wondered how I could’ve thrown away the best dog toy ever.

My guess was Libby didn’t kill the chipmunk but found the carcass and somehow brought it in undetected. Although bred for hunting, in the seven years we’ve had her, Libby’s never murdered anything—as far as we know. Unless she lives a double life.

That night, before going to sleep, I gingerly checked under the covers. Libby loves bringing her toys into bed, which now might include ‘dead rodent’ toys. The image of rolling over to find a deceased chipmunk next to Randy and me—like a country version of the Godfather’s ‘horse head scene’—was not a pleasant one.

Since then, every time Libby comes back inside, we inspect her for dead bodies. As we’ve learned with this terrier, you never know.

Sigh. Life with Libby may be crazy, but it’s never boring.

 

Has your dog or cat ever brought you an unpleasant ‘gift?’ Comments are always welcome and if you’d like to receive posts by email, just press here. Thank you!