Training Vermin

The more charitable of our readers will probably say that Fox has decided to train up these dogs. The more cynical would say that it's just That Time of Year, when strapping young Vermin set off into the wet, green woods to seek their fortune and find, instead, a moderately disgusting housecat.

Tonight, Fox set a mole loose in our bedroom. I saw her sitting in front of my dresser and I figured she was still hunting last night's mouse when, Oh! I spied a mole.

I went and fetched Dagmar.

Fox kept track of the mole, more or less, and I served as beater, driving the mole toward open space or at least out of whatever remote cranny it dove into. (Have you counted the remote crannies in your bedroom, lately?) A few minutes into the pursuit I heard, from the other side of the wooden screen toward which I'd been chivvying the mole, the tell-tale sound of dog tags shaking vigorously and the thwap-thwap-thwap of Dagmar's ears (and probably the mole) slapping around.

Despite big praise and treats and the opportunity to brag to Esme, Dagmar did not want to drop the mole. Eventually I forced it out of her mouth and gave her more treats.

So, versus small critters the size of a film canister, Dagmar is death on four legs. I've reset the rat trap; I'm very curious about how the next big critter will fare.

Vermin: 2
Dogs: 3