Remember day before yesterday? When I said Mia was exhibiting maternal instincts? Turns out I was horribly, horribly wrong.
Well, unless Mia's version of maternal instincts includes eating her young!
Turns out I gave Miss Mia far too much credit in my previous missive about her intentions when she was herding the little chick back to the chicken yard. I read the look on her face as concern for the chick's welfare. Single minded focus on her self-appointed stewardship over the fluffy little straggler. Apparently, what I was actually reading on her face was furtive calculation and desperate longing, mixed with the strain of exercising every ounce of self-control she could muster to not chomp that little cheeper between her steel-trap jaws right there and then. Somehow, I must have missed the drool.
Mia snagged and killed a chick yesterday morning.
I couldn't believe it. She came trotting up the lane from the coop with the chick in her mouth, and flopped down under her favorite eating tree. This, the dog who I have always felt was safe to have around the chickens. The one, who up until yesterday, was the only dog that could wander the chicken yard and coop with me, and the chickens never skittered away nervously. They were content to have her around.
I was devastated when Mike told me of the killing, and deeply disappointed in Mia. Has she really turned chicken killer? Or, is this a temporary brutality phase, brought on by the psychotic throes of pregnancy? Is she experiencing pregnancy cravings? Are warm chicks the canine equivalent of pickles and ice cream? Or, in my case, raving hot salsa and salty, warm chips?
Equally as disturbing as Mia's treacherous act is the fact that I'm left with that unsettling realization that my judgment of character is wildly out of sync with reality. I wonder what other creatures and people in my life have hideous secret twists that they're just waiting to spring on me.
Disillusioned and wary down on the farm,