Since Jetson’s passing, Cheyenne has been reasserting herself as the unequivocal Alpha of the Verastiqui Pack. She demands table scraps. She shoves her ball in our faces. She sleeps at the head of our bed. If she were still a pup, we’d probably take steps to correct this behavior, but she’s getting on in years and already has a couple of good cancers (emphasis the vet’s, not mine), so she pretty much has free reign in the house. No one dares to question her authority.
The backyard is a little different.
The animals that pass the boundaries of our yard have not heard of this land’s ruthless ruler.
Doesn’t matter what you are–rabbit, snake, mother-f-ing possum–Cheyenne will fight you.
So, if you were at your window past midnight the other night, you might have heard Cheyenne giving the business to the possum pictured above.
And if you then happened to look out your window, you would have seen an overweight Hispanic man in his boxers who clearly didn’t expect he’d have to go outside trying to break up a fight between his beloved pooch and a demon hell spawn marsupial.
We have fun.