Now that the table was out of Ray's way, he was able to do what he wanted to all along. He ate the bug.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
The other day, Gregg and I were in the living room reading the paper and drinking our tea and coffee (respectively) when Ray ambled into the room, sniffing. He went over to the table next to Gregg's chair, laid down and jammed his head under the table. "Whatcha smell, Ray?" I asked. I got to my feet and went over to have a look but didn't see anything. Ray got up and wandered away then came back and did the same thing. This time I got up and moved the table to see what had captivated Ray's interest. There was a daddy-longlegs-kind-of-thingy on the floor, it's legs curled up into the signature dead-bug posture. Probably the same one that had been pinging into the window a few days before which had made Ray dance on his back legs trying to catch it. At the time, I thought maybe Ray had heard buzzing or the ticking noise the bug made whenever it hit the window. Now I realized that it was more likely that Ray had smelled the thing as it flew its crazy path around the room.