Bark vs. Growl - I talk to Mom

I might be a dog, but I know how to communicate effectively with my people. I can make a lot of different growls and barks, and I've trained Mom and Dad to hear all the nuances and know what I'm saying. 

There's my "airplane going over" growl. It's really short and quiet. I don't like it when airplanes fly over my head. Mom says there is nothing we can do about it and I should stop complaining. She's probably right but I'm exercising my first amendment rights and expressing myself. 

I have different growls for when deer or fox or crows are in my yard. When I bark and growl, Mom and Dad know more than one critter is around. When I just bark, they know whatever it is is close to our house. Then there's a different bark when someone is coming back the lane. That's a fast and loud bark.  When I'm outside I talk to the neighborhood dogs. That's a loud and long bark with a pause to hear a reply before I do it again. I'm the local boss. Sometimes I tell everyone to shut up and be quiet and they listen to me. Mom thinks that's funny.

When I bark in the house, Mom tells me to use my inside voice. I don't think so. Just like I know words and phrases Mom and Dad know growls and barks. It's a pretty good system. 

But sometimes I just need to tell Mom something special like how much I love her. Face-to-face is best for that. Mom says I'm special.

I'm Deuce. Of course I'm special! 

The red fox

Saturday morning started out with a boom. Seriously. A big boom! The neighbor down over the hill fired a shot at daybreak! Dad said it sounded like a black powder muzzleloader. The deer hunters have a black powder season so lots of the neighbors have those guns. 

Mom and I woke up to the big boom. Mom muttered something about idiots but since she wasn't talking about me or Dad, I went back to sleep for a bit. When we finally got up, Mom took me straight-away to the door like she always does. I knew as soon as I stepped outside something was wrong. I smelled it and pushed Mom back inside. She didn't know what was going on and fussed me for almost knocking her down. 

I growled and growled so she started looking out the windows and that's when she saw it lying in the yard beside the patio - an injured red fox. Mom opened the bathroom window and the fox tried to get up and run but it couldn't. Its hind legs were paralyzed but it was still strong enough to drag itself a few feet and hide under the hostas. 

Right away she told me it had been shot. Mom went into the bedroom and told Dad he had to get up and put the fox out of its misery. I had to think about that for a minute and I'm pretty sure she meant the fox was in a lot of pain and it made her sad. It made Dad sad, too. He got up and didn't even put on his pants before he loaded the rifle. He said we couldn't let the fox suffer any longer than necessary. 

Dad's a really good shot. 

Mom and Dad used the backhoe on the John Deere to bury the fox. Even though they don't like having foxes around, they were still sad they had to put it down. They're kind of angry with the neighbors, too. They say if you load your gun to hunt, you'd better know how to make a clean, quick kill. They say it's wrong to let any animal suffer. 

I agree.