The Prairie

We walk through the parking lot twice a day. It's overgrown with weeds. I call it the 'prairie' and imagine that I am a pioneer with my faithful hound. The puppy prefers to think of our strolls as 'patrols' and insists that he has to stop periodically for a thorough sniffing because he's working on his 'case.'

In the morning there are a lot of magpies, cackling loudly.

"Why don't you let me off leash so I can catch one for you?"

"It's ok. I don't think I want a dead magpie."

"Everybody wants a dead magpie," he pouts.

"No, really, I'm ok. Thanks."

Puppy gazes longingly at the magpies in the trees, with one forepaw half raised in hope. He thinks to himself: "Tomorrow she will change her mind and let me hunt magpie."

He particularly despises magpies because "They are mocking me!"