Magnus The Assasin

Yesterday afternoon I saw Magnus, the world's biggest Labrador, laying on his haunches halfway down the slope of the ridge where we live and chowing down on something.

I didn't go to look at what he was eating, because dogs eat sewage and every time I catch them doing that it makes me want to put my hands over my ears and go "La la la." But this morning there were a bunch of ravens paying a helluva lot of attention to that spot where he'd been laying. And when Magnus saw them he went ballistic.

Magnus is about a million in dog years, weighs well over 150 pounds, and if he runs anywhere it's because he's feeling really, really motivated. But he went charging down the slope at those ravens, barking thunderously, and he didn't stop till he had driven the whole murder of them all the way to the meadow. Then he trotted complacently back to the spot and started chewing on something.

Well, I thought, that must be one valuable piece of dung he's got there. Guess I should go see what it is. So I walked down to join him, and found the gory south half of a rabbit just disappearing down Magnus' enormous maw.

Now, it's no secret that Magnus loves him some rabbit. Also, he won't say no to a nice plump rat. But as I said, he's no runner. His technique involves the unusual (and unfortunate) defensive habit young bunnies have of freezing in place rather than running away. Works pretty good for me; I've been known to damn near step on one before seeing it. But I don't have Magnus' supernatural nose. That ol' boy knows where the rodents are, and if they don't run it's 'say hello to Mr. Stomach.' This usually nets him only young rabbits, small enough to eat whole and on the spot. This time it looks like he scored himself an older model.

But they all wind up in the same place. Sorry about you, Thumper.