How unmutual!
Full disclosure: Landlady’s little townie dog Dharma loves to kill rats. Ghost and LB ignore them, unless they build nests right smack in the boys’ territory.
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They say that Louis XIV had the inscription Ultima Ratio Regum cast into all the cannon of the French Army. It means “The Ultimate Argument of Kings,” and that always struck me as one of the most honest and up-front things any ruler or would-be ruler ever said. “We can dress it up prettier than this, but when it comes down to the unvarnished truth this is what it’s about: You’ll do as I say or I’ll send my goons to kill you.”
I thought about that for a long time. If there’s an ultimate argument, it seems only logical that there must be an ultimate answer. For years I thought the ultimate answer must be the bullets in my rifle, but it never seemed quite right. I’ve got bullets – he’s got frigging Cannon Balls. I mean, if there were three hundred million rifles throwing bullets at him, then maybe. But we all know that’s not going to happen. So if there’s an ultimate answer to his ultimate argument, it sure as hell ain’t bullets.
It finally came to me – and that’s when I abandoned the city and most of my stuff, and gave all that was behind me a good stiff Randian Shrug.
The ultimate answer to kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.
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just took mine down to bare metal again.
Neighbors had a dachshund that loved to hunt rats. Daisy, the dachshund would go into derelict or repossessed property and kill the pack rats.
Go Dharma!!!! Welcome!!!! Uncle Joel needs you. Where can I send the doggie treats?
Thus . . . “rat terriers”.
😉
I walk my Malamute at the Harbor. There are trashcans full of the furry little vermin. She discovered this and now it’s an obsession for her. She’s killed about 50 of them. She had one jump out of the cat and run across her back while she was crunching another that had come out of the cam first.
The smart ones just don’t come out.
When I was a teenager, my parents got a Rat Terrier… 17lbs of muscle, teeth, bone, bad attitude, and hair. Wasn’t anything else in that dog. If he scaled up proportionately to the 70lb class, we’d all still be living in caves in fear of those things.
He eventually learned how to cut the corner on the yard, and catch a squirrel just before it got to the tree. He made quite the impact on the local rodent population after that. Used to “punch” them with both front paws at full speed (probably breaking bones, stunning, etc) then grab em and give em a good shake. After they stopped fighting back, he couldnt care less about them.
He lived a long and healthy life (16? 17?) before succumbing to liver cancer. Killed his last squirrel the day before he went to the vet to not come home.
He was named Spike.
In a previous life, had a Spitz named Nessie who would catch mice and scare them to death! Never a broken blood vessel, but eyes bugged-out.
Usually left in a pool of dog drool for us to find.
In the middle of the bed.
🙂
gfa