Here is a short one for you guys to read ---
It’s late spring, and a warm breeze drifts through my window. I can hear my dog in the yard, the tags on his collar jingling as he romps around, occasionally sniffing tennis balls and making a mess by digging in the dirt. Kirby has always been a digger, and is the only dog I’ve ever known to and burry his prized possessions in the backyard. He zigzags along the grass, and then sniffs the clematis lining the fence of the yard, the stump of a tail frantically wagging. Suddenly, his body becomes rigid. A low growl escapes his muzzle. Kirby’s interest in the clematis escalates, as his growling transforms into high-pitched barks. He then begins to paw at the plants in a frenzy. His barks are rapidly increasing, from a curious few to a series of alerted yelps, signaling that he has found an astounding treasure. With his paws caked in dirt and his muzzle blackened, Kirby emerges from his finding with a baby rabbit in his mouth. The only visible parts of the unfortunate creature are its tiny legs, which feebly twitch and kick in a pathetic attempt for freedom. From my window, I see Kirby take his prey and prance around the yard in a victory lap. From his jaws the weak rabbit squeaks a grotesque, ear-piercing cry for help, and I feel spring fade into summer.