The human returned from her hunting session and stored the spoils for meals to be eaten later on. Unfortunately, the storage spots are kept in large, closeable holes far beyond my reach. She insists on handing my food to me whenever she sees fit as if I am incapable of hunting for myself. No matter. There are other more pressing matters to attend to - like that peculiar object she likes to wave in my face for amusement no matter how many times I try to fight it off.
It's a god-awful dangly doohicky made from the soft parts of flying squawkers, the parts that come off in my mouth whenever I manage to catch one. For the life of me, I can't understand why she scolds me for setting at her feet a perfect speciman of a flying squawker that I caught just for her, yet this bizarre, inanimate mutation of a squawker is perfectly acceptable.
I have come to the conclusion that the human is somewhat dimwitted.
Created: Jul 23, 2012Jasmine Shea Document Media