Peace and puppies

Picture, if you will, the following: It's early Saturday morning. Quiet. Peaceful. (Yet still way too damn early to be awake, but I'm not about to argue with a dog's bladder.) In our little backyard--a slice of heaven reserved for us--Fig romps with a visiting 7-week-old black Labrador Retriever puppy. The play breaks up for a brief rest. Puppy is getting tired. He's very young so his bursts of energy last an hour before he needs a forty-minute nap.

Puppy plops his tiny puppy bottom down in a shaded spot for a breather. A strange scream is heard. High-pitched, almost wailing. It sounds muffled, yet still loud enough to disrupt our peaceful Saturday morning. Puppy looks startled. Fig hears the noise and rushes at puppy. Puppy looks confused. Fig shoves puppy out of the way and throws herself down on the spot puppy had occupied. The screaming grows louder and, if possible, frantic.

By the time I made it across the yard to investigate Fig had a giant cicada sticking out of her mouth. She was gritting her teeth with a determined look on her face.

So wee puppy had sat on a cicada, who had screamed in protest, and ended up locked in the jaws of an angry Fig.

And if you're wondering whether I'm the kind of fruit who saves insects from dogs, I won't keep you wondering: I did make Fig hand over the cicada. She was not at all amused about having to give it up. The cicada was not amused at being sat on and then glomped. I was not amused at having to fish a cicada out of a dog's mouth.

I learned two things: Cicadas sound really creepy when sat upon and Fig needs to work on her "drop it" cue, as it doesn't work on cicadas.