Stormy night

A couple of nights ago, we woke to Violet Wiggins, the dog, pawing the side of the bed, trying to get our attention.

That usually means she needs to go out, but this time she had another concern. Boris, the cat, had cornered a mouse.

Violet is a cattle dog, and apparently cattle dogs don’t kill small creatures. Or at least this one doesn’t. On at least two occasions, she has come running to me and dropped a very live, and very upset, mouse or mole at my feet, then waited for me to take it to safety.


The message was unmistakable, then and now. Violet, clearly a pacifist, wanted us to effect a rescue. So we did.

Everyone went back to sleep, though Boris looked a bit put out.

Two nights later, Violet was pawing the bed again. Before we had time to wonder what was wrong, a bolt of lightning lit the sky and thunder cracked overhead. She was nervous.

It was quite a storm. One bolt of lightning after another, an almost continuous rumble of thunder, and drenching rain. I pulled on a bathrobe, sat on the floor with her, and we looked out the window together for awhile.

As things quieted down, I promised her everything was alright and turned to go back to bed.

Boris streaked by, something squeaking with terror right in front of him. I saw Violet’s head swing from the mouse, to me, and back to the mouse. She jumped between Boris and his victim, and waited for me to step in.

I took the mouse outside and we watched him wobble off the porch into the rain as the sky began to lighten.

I’m up. It’s going to be a long day.

Read more installments of Village Voices by Susan Barnett.