The Wildcat

     Last night Dixie and I had our first run-in with Florida wildlife. Clearly, the animal had been hiding and watching us from the thick screen provided by my photo%20copyneighbor’s rose bushes. The hissing, spitting and distinctive ear-splitting scream, emitting from the bush as we approached identified the critter as feline. When it ran, I saw it was about half the height of my German shepherd. The cat was blacker than night.

     Dixie must have thought it was playtime, because she immediately tried to give chase. The dog will never know how lucky it was the panther had decided retreating was the better part of valor.

     This morning when Dixie and I went out for our early walk, she ran over to that same spot and thoroughly inhaled the scent the wildcat had left on the ground. She seemed to be reliving the excitement of the previous night’s incident.

     Suddenly setting her head at a jaunty angle, Dixie looked up at me, her normally soft brown eyes glittered with the memory.

     “I did good, didn’t I?”

     “Yeah, Dixie, you did good.” I replied.

     When we continued our walk I noticed a definite, puppy-like spring to her trot. Try as I did, I could barely keep up.

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