Arthur stands at the window all day and watches. He looks up.
He looks down. What is he looking at?
Oh my. Arthur sees a squirrel up on the chair. The squirrel is trying to jump to the bird feeder.
The squirrel gives up and goes for the easy pickings.
Arthur barks at the squirrel.
The squirrel doesn’t care. The squirrel only worries when I say to Arthur, “Do you want to get the squirrel?” and Arthur turns and dashes from the room. He runs around the banister in the hall, taking the curves on three-legs. He runs to the door and gets into a stance to sprint. When I open it, he dashes out the door straight for the squirrel. The squirrel is halfway across the driveway or up a tree by the time Arthur makes it across the porch.
It’s no wonder Arthur barks at those pesky squirrels.
Who invade his territory.
Arrogantly tease him.
And then run away.
But Arthur doesn’t worry. He’ll be right back here at the window tomorrow. Doing his job.
Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it with us. And happy winter holidays, however you celebrate them, from the squirrel-chasing, bird-defending little white dog and me.