About thirty seconds later, I realized what he was really doing and why. He was bracing himself for another drive-by from the dingo. Digger hurled himself onto the porch with gusto, which is pretty much his m.o. for everything. He ran over to the toad, gave him a good smack on the rump, and took off after a low-flying bug. Within moments he was back for another smack and a big lick. Why? Why does he do that? He knows the toad tastes terrible, but he does it anyway. Back in the house, he ran around clacking his tongue like an old woman playing with her false teeth until I gave him a dog biscuit to cleanse his palate.
Tonight, it was an imperial moth when I opened the door. Three dogs and one cat filed in. Too late, I noticed the big yellow fluttery thing in the dingo's mouth. A lot of yelling and wrestling ensued, but I won in the end. By some small miracle, it was alive and unhurt, even after I had to pry it from his jaws and then recapture it once it was loose in the house.
O, heavenly Father, protect and bless all things that have breath;
guard them from all evil,
and let them sleep in peace.
~ Albert Schweitzer
