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Dinah Ate A Rat
by Cheri Block Sabraw

I love Chinese New Year and everything that goes with it: firecrackers, food, colorful parades, dragons, music, and the Chinese calendar. Last year was the Year of the Boar, so I wrote a silly essay entitled Year of the Bore, poking fun at all aspects of Boredom. This year, as the lunar new year approached, I became concerned because even though I am not enamored by black hairy pigs that snort and root up my lawn, I was even more concerned about the next animal on the Chinese lunar calendar wheel: The Rat.

Since I knew my readers were waiting for me to write about The Year of the Rat, I started thinking about rats incessantly. Seeing Ratatouille in the theatres got me going, and re-reading Charlotte's Web, trying to see new possibilities in Templeton continued my quest, but it wasn't until my cat Bobb stalked, killed and then ate part of a large brown rat, which he delivered to our front door step, that a real rat had entered my world. Bobb had eaten half of the rat before he decided to show his hunting and culinary skills off. The front part was his appetizer; all that remained were the shoulders, the belly, hindquarters, back legs, bony toes, and that long scaly tale. The rat's face, whiskers, ears, chest and front legs were all inside Bobb.

I congratulated Bobb on his hunting prowess, telling him, "What a fine feline specimen you are! How lovely that you killed this vermin which could have scared me as I wandered around my property, searching for wildflowers and buried treasures. In fact Bobb, you are so magnificent, I am going to give you a special treat — some tuna." Bob licked his black paws with unabashed pride. I threw the other half of the rat way down deep into our creek bed where only vultures dare go, where carcasses have at least some peace in their decomposition and basic rotting. It is the same gully that I have thrown dead squirrels, moles, and birds in. No one goes to the gully. No one that is, except Dinah, my yellow Labrador retriever.

The event happened when I had returned home after a long day at Mill Creek Academy, my school. Leaving my car, entering my home, changing my clothes, grabbing a Coke and descending down the kennel stairs to let Dinah out for some play and dinner were my nightly routine. Dinah ate a delicious dinner of dry kibble with hot water and moved to the lawn area for her nightly retrieving activities, which consist of getting the ball, getting the ball, and getting the ball. In a momentary lack of concentration, I went into my home to get a coat. The weather was nippy. When I came back outside, Dinah had disappeared with her stuffed animal duck. Dusk was upon us; I retrieved a flashlight from the garage. "Diiiiiiiinah, Diiiiiiinah, where are you? I have a special treat for you, a small microscopic piece of compressed salmon for you... Hmmmmm. No Dinah.

Then I saw the most horrific sight a loving dog owner (who had actually let her dog lick her face) could see: My dog had a truncated rat in her mouth with the appendages hanging out at least 2-3 inches.

My stomach compressed, my throat grew dry and constricted. Then, I did what all puppy owners know not to do? I chased her and she took off like a desperate scavenger who hadn't had a decent meal since last Thanksgiving. The more I chased, the more she ran.

My struggle became emotional. Dinah not only savored her hors d oeuvre as she high- tailed around the yard: she began eat it! I started to cry at this scene that could only be found in a Charles Dickens back alley or a Stephen King bedroom. Running to my refrigerator, I pulled out anything I thought she might want more than the rat: sushi, left over filet mignon steak, Brie cheese. I threw all of it on the lawn, but no, she proceeded to ignore my California cuisine and really settle into and savor all parts rat.

The scene ended when she swallowed the tail.
I was spent.
Dinah spent the night in her kennel.
We didn't talk about it.
I called her father's owner, Linda.
Linda said, "Get over it. Labs love stinky rotten things."

This morning, as I discussed the story with Dinah, she saw an innocent alligator lizard on the deck. She ate it. And it wasn't even the Year of the Alligator Lizard yet.

About the author:
Well, I am a writing teacher and have been so for 37 years. Anecdote, someone exaggerated, has been my medium (which is why I am a fan of your, Mr. Keillor.) I am married to a retired judge, who still mows the lawn in his robes. I blog bi-weekly have have 307 Followers...