close encounters

For thirteen years the venerable beagle has been hunting wabbits like Elmer Fud: unsuccessfully. In thirteen years, however, this has not diminished her determination. Today her persistance was rewarded. We were strolling down a fairly isolated walking path through the cool fog when suddenly, there it was. A little brown cottontail shot across the path just a few feet before us. Daisy looked up, saw it, and... froze. Damnit dog, what do you think you are? A pointer? Ah, whatever. She wouldn't know what to do with it if she caught it. You see for her the joy of the thing isn't in the kill, it's in the chase. She just wants to romp through the brush and smell things, mainly wabbits. Today was special because it was the first time in her entire life she's actually seen a wabbit. And let me tell you, the expression on her face was priceless. She looked for all the world like Sir Grummore Grummorsen at the moment he first gazed upon the Questing Beast; awed, triumphant, humbled (paradoxically) and slightly confused. Bless. Her tenacity having been paid off and her purpose in life renewed, we continued on our wagging way. (Later on we even got to smell a toad! Another big first.) Tis a great boon in life to be absolutely sure of one's purpose. Few humans ever achieve it. Oh, to be a beagle in the tall grass and smell wabbits.