That's Bawlmer, hon

Last night, I took Eska out on our evening walk. We set out on the same route we always follow: up Cresmont to 31st, straight until Remington/33rd, hang a right on Remington and follow it up to Beech ....

All was well on the first leg of our trip. We ran into Andy the fierce terrier shortly after our departure, he and Eska had a little exchange, then they parted ways. She sniffed around my neighbour's garden. Someone stopped to tell her she was beautiful. Same old.

We get up to 31st and make a left, Eska trotting happily behind me. She's walking on the sidewalk, not uncharacteristically, but I can feel her veering toward the grass precisely at the time she usually feels compelled to do her dirty business. Routine. I don't look behind me. It's only when I start fishing in my pocket for the plastic bag I bring with me for such occasions, that I'm alerted to the THE NIGHTMARE I AM ABOUT TO WITNESS by a strange, unfamiliar cross between a squeak and a whimper I hear coming from behind me. I turn around: Eska is holding a dying rat the size of my head in her mouth. Proudly. "Look, mommy. I haz big chew-toy."

So my initial reaction was, verbatim, "ohmygodohmygod EW, ESKA DROP IT!" My next instinct was to add an "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!!!" and then an "ew. ew. gross. GROSS. Drop it! Ew! Drop!" closing up, finally, with, "good girl. Ohmygod, that was SO gross."

The guy walking just a few feet behind me found the whole scene rather amusing, and tried to make my nervous laughter less awkward by pronouncing some unremarkable comment about my girl's hunting skills.

I know you were hungry, zoeesh, but couldn't you have picked up a candy wrapper instead?