Cobwebs

What's that Mojo? The blog is what? Oh, yes, gathering cobwebs. 

I see what you mean. 

OK, but if we're going to blog, you're going to have to go public with your naughtiness. Yes, I will tell everyone how you ran off yesterday when Dad took you for a walk. How he watched your little fuzzy derrière disappear across the fields along to the next farm. How he had to go home with Digger, pump up the bike tyres and come out searching. How the two gents already searching for your best friend Eireann the red setter joined the hunt. How he gave up, cycled a mile home to spot you prowling up the lane. 

Let's go back a day. 

Here's Remus. Aka "The Darkness". He's huge. He's got hip dysplasia. He's also the most incredibly successful hunter. 

Anyway, Mum is weeding the veg plot and Remus lazily chases a bunny out if the grass. It does a quick left turn and bolts to the gate, where two incredulous Airedales stood with their mouths open. You've waited 8 years to catch one, haven't you, Mojo? You didn't have to squeeze it so hard did you? Dad swung into action and rescued it, only to have one of the chickens rush over and try to peck its eye. It's a horror movie. 

Anyway, since then you've been on a prey drive high and all you want to do is look for bunnies, even if that means running off. 

Here's the problem though. A few hours after you were reunited with Dad down the lane, our neighbour found that same pecking chicken deceased in their driveway. Just down that lane. Was it you? 

Digger would like to point out that he is never ever naughty. 

(And if you believe that, you believe anything - Mum)