Dial M for Mosquito Murderer

Every day, Roo goes out to check on the three or four meaty bones she has buried in the yard. She digs them up one at a time, walks them past me with a modest smile and then slinks around with them dangling from her jaws until she decides where to dig new holes for them. In this way, she both accounts for her holdings and tends to her kitchen. Today, one of the bones had achieved an unusually high state of malodorousness, hitting me from about 20 yards away. It was like coming upon a half-drained bayou in which alligators had left a corpse four days before. This was such a delicacy that Roo settled in to savor it (seen here) for a while at the base of the tree where it will simmer a tad more in its new hole.

By the way, in case you happen to be a mosquito, you're best advised not to fly too close to Roo when she has the weapons systems fixed on you as seen here, because this is the last look you will see before being snatched out of the air, spat into the ivy, and forgotten forever, except for a mention in a blog, which is another way of saying the same thing.

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