My weekends out on eastern Long Island can go one of two ways. Sometimes they are quiet--long hours spent lounging on the deck while soaking up the sun--while other times they are action packed--chasing squirrels across the yard and pacing the fence, knowing full well, even though I can't see them, that there are deer hanging out in the yard next to mine.
Lately, my weekends have been of the latter variety.
The Cat:
It was first thing Saturday morning and I was outside in the back yard checking out the perimeter. I was particularly engrossed in my task because the night before, when my family and I had first arrived, I had caught the undeniable whiff of cat in the bushes. You see, that's the problem with having two yards to patrol--when you're watching one you can't watch the other and that's when the wildlife starts to take over be it cats, squirrels, moles, or deer.
So anyway, I was snuffling through the bushes, making my way to the side gate, when all of a sudden I saw it: a furry brown cat on my side of the fence. Now, it should be noted that I've seen this cat before--mainly in the yard across the street from me (and yes, I barked hysterically at him)--and I was always kind of taken aback by how large he appeared to be given just how far away he was from my window. I've even heard my family commenting on his size (they said he looked like a mountain lion). Well, let's just say that if he was big from across the street, he was massive at close range.
Now, when Pa tells this story, he says that I gave off a "high pitched girly scream of a bark" when I saw the cat. I, however, disagree. You see, Pa was on the other side of the yard at the time and I'm sure that what he heard was actually a conglomeration of my manly bark, the hissing of the cat, the whistle of the wind through the tree branches, and the cawing of the crows overhead. Yep, I'm sure of it.
So, there I was standing ten feet away from the cat who was cornered between the front fence and the neighbor's. Most animals, when cornered like this, would simply slip under or jump over the fence and scurry away. The cat wanted to do this--I could sense it--but its girth made it completely impossible to make a clean and fast get away (which was further hampered by the cat's concern about turning its back to me). I, on the other hand, knew what I needed to do--I needed to protect my turf and approach the cat--but, let's just say, I was a bit apprehensive. You see, the cat was really rather large and the hissing was a bit intimidating. With neither of us particularly interested in furthering the situation, the cat and I mutually decided to engage in a staring contest.
Realizing that there was an impasse and wishing to save face for everyone involved, Pa came up with a solution to the stalemate. He called my name. Being the obedient dog that I am, I turned to look at Pa which gave the cat just enough time to turn away from me, flatten out, and shimmy his way under the fence. It wasn't a clean get away though. When I scurried over to the corner where the cat had previously been, I discovered a large tuft of fur clinging to the bottom of the fence.
The Arborists:
The following weekend, I was awoken first thing in the morning with a sudden onslaught of large trucks, cherry pickers, wood chippers, and a crew of five or six men taking over my front and back yards.
Needless to say, the first thing I did was bark hysterically at the hubbub (I found out later that Pa had scheduled a group of arborists--without my knowledge or input--to come trim our trees). Next, I took a nap. Then, after resting up a bit, I started barking hysterically again.
It was during my second round of barking that I suddenly realized something. Not only were there interlopers in my yard and not only did I have to limit my business trips to their breakfast and lunch breaks, but I was also not allowed to go out and help them turn the giant branches into smaller branches and the smaller branches into mulch.
Needless to say I was really bummed. I barked my displeasure.
