Pack
One of my mother's maxim's was that three dogs make a pack, which meant that having one or two pet dogs (as opposed to working dogs) was ok, but three or more could lead to behavior problems. The Pack thinks up interesting things to do. Such as chase chickens. Not a good idea.
I was well aware of that when we adopted Rosalie, but I assumed that Chance's advancing arthritis would limit the amount of Pack (Mis)Behavior I would have to cope with. And so it does - outdoors.
Rosalie is way too invested in the idea of cats. She sniffs around Rocky and Baxter as if they are the most interesting things she's ever met. She chases. We're going to have to work on that; I don't want her harassing poor Meadow, who is the only cat shy enough to have an issue with this. Last night, though.
Marilla came into the living room, and all three of the dogs suddenly got that feeling . . of being a Pack. Harass a cat? Maybe? What if we just . . pushed her around . . a little bit? Marilla sheltered under the dining room table, amid a forest of chair legs. I was watching the situation closely, in case I needed to interfere. The dogs were standing around the table, intently focused on Marilla.
She is quite a small cat with an outsized temper. And, sure enough, after a few moments of 'humoring' them by hiding, she had had enough. She walked assertively out from under the table, past Chance, into the middle of the floor, and then flopped. She made direct eye contact. The words "D'you think you want a piece of this?" were virtually floating over her head. All of the dogs considered the situation, vis-a-vis starting shit, and suddenly found other things to do.
I was sitting on the sofa, trying not to laugh too openly. She is a legend. Mad respect, as you younguns would say.
