I’m beginning to wonder if the wildlife population in Narragansett has exploded…
Or if I’ve simply started paying attention.
This morning’s walk with Sophie and Sadie delivered Exhibit A.
Halfway down the path, I felt the leash go tight. Not the casual “I smell something interesting” tight. The kind of tight that says, “Sir, we have a situation.”
I followed Sophie’s gaze.
There he was.
A young raccoon.
Locked in.
Perched low on a tree trunk like a bandit who had just realized the getaway car wasn’t coming.
Frozen.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t twitch.
The old “If I don’t move, I don’t exist” strategy.
Admirable.
But Sophie?
Not fooled.
Sixteen pounds of fur and conviction went into full laser focus. I could practically hear the gears turning inside her head.
“Not a deer.”
“Deer don’t climb trees.”
“Way too big to be a squirrel.”
“Bobcats have short stubby tails… this one’s got a feather duster.”
“It’s turkey-sized. But no feathers.”
“And what is with the mask? Is this thing planning a heist?”
I tried distracting her.
“Sophie… what is that, girl?”
She didn’t even courtesy-glance in my direction.
I ceased to exist.
For four solid minutes, it was a Western showdown. Two adversaries. No blinking. No backing down. Just wind in the trees and tension thick enough to spread on toast.
Then.
Movement.
Rocky decided the statue routine had run its course.
He shifted.
And that was all Sophie needed.
Protective Mom Mode: ACTIVATED.
She lunged like Sadie’s very survival hung in the balance. Barking with the authority of a German Shepherd. The mass of a throw pillow. The bravery of a warrior queen.
Sadie, meanwhile, sprinted in support.
No barking yet.
Just vigorous scan mode.
“What are we upset about? I’m upset too! But what are we upset about?”
The raccoon began descending the tree with the rhythm of a ballroom dancer.
Step two-three.
Pause two-three.
Glance two-three.
Utter composure.
Sadie finally joined the chorus.
Now we had a full-blown canine opera in the key of hysteria.
Rocky reached the ground, gave one last masked look that said, “Amateurs.” And exited stage left with quiet dignity.
Silence.
Both dogs turned and looked at me simultaneously.
The look said it all:
“Permission to pursue?”
I addressed them the way one addresses children after their first playground altercation.
“You’ve had your excitement for the morning. You met a new neighbor. You set boundaries. You did excellent community outreach.”
Pause.
“It’s time to go in and have breakfast.”
Two heads tilted.
Then I delivered the word that ends all debates in this household.
“Want a cookie?”
Instant transformation.
Predators no more.
Just two wide-eyed angels snapping to attention.
Cut.
That’s a wrap.
Narragansett wildlife: 1
Cookies: undefeated.
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