When Mom was visiting, we came home to find Spike on our side porch, facing away from us. "Spike!" I called. I turned to Mom. "Spike thinks he's this great hunter but he never catches anything."
The words "...never catches anything" were still hanging in the air when Spike turned to face us with a mouth full of live chipmunk.
Mom screamed (she can't stand to see an animal hurt) and then yelled, "It's still alive, get him, get him!" Blair and I took off after Spike who, ignoring our calls, beat a hasty retreat across the street and disappeared into the bushes.
I looked at Mom and Blair. "Fine, so he catches things. I was wrong." Mom was quiet as she walked in the house.
Later that day I looked out our back kitchen window and saw the little chipmunks mate, sitting by the hole where they live in our yard, looking for its little friend. I felt so sorry for him.
And I wanted to warn him to go back inside his little hole and be safe.
Because somewhere out in our yard lurks Spike, the newly crowned Great Chipmunk Hunter.