Birdie

I got my first birdie yesterday! If you're a golfer, please don't be confused with your kind of birdie. You see, I'm a hunting dog. Well, a bird dog to be more exact. My long lines of ancestors were bred to retrieve birds that hunters shot down (I guess because hunters are lazy). As I was taking a break from running around at the dog park, something moving caught my eye. Usually, the moving items that catch my eye include paper, leaves, plastic bags, etc. I thought this was going to turn up as just another stupid leaf. To my surprise, it had small feathers and tried to fly away from me. BUT, I was too fast for that little birdie. I snatched it up into my mouth and ran around to all my friends and showed them what I had. My mommy chased me yelling "Drop It Dakota!" and "Dakota, Leave it!", but I pretended not to hear her. All I could think about was how proud my ancestors would've been. The other dog parents in the park looked mortified, so I presumed none of them were hunters and didn't understand my keen bird instincts.

For months, the birds have been torturing me! Flying overhead, sitting on fences and rooftops, hiding behind the glass windows. Not this time! I couldn't let this moment pass...I continued to bask in the Labrador glory by gallivanting around that 1 acre park. That is, UNTIL I attempted to get a better grip on the birdie. In a split second, the birdie was out of my mouth and on its way to freedom. Oh well, it sure was fun while it lasted. After the little birdie got away, I heard my mommy say "She is a bird dog" and I puffed out my chest and grinned.