Share This Story
Who can figure out a way to mix a cat, a mountain of oyster shells, two fish & wildlife officers, and a pack of Siberian Huskies into one story? We can!
Oyster harvesting season is a big deal this time of year. At low tide, we watch people wander out into the salt marsh and gather buckets of the delicacy. Law enforcement officers from the state Department of Natural Resources rigorously enforce the rules regulating the amount of oysters that can be harvested. To ensure the future of the oyster environment, the empty shells can be dropped off at recycling centers.
These details are important for today’s story, because we often walk to Oyster Landing, a place near our house that has all of the elements.
First, you should know, we love the shell recycling center. Notice in the photo above that the trashcans are located immediately beside the recycling bin. So when Hu-Dad deposits our, uh, deposits, into those bins, he has to watch us carefully to make sure none of us attempt to take home an oyster shell for later enjoyment. Some dogs (Typhoon) have been known to try. And try. And try. And some dogs (Typhoon) get frisked often to prevent such actions.
Anyway, on Wednesday, we walked toward Oyster Landing and did out business along the way. Hu-Dad gathered our output and stopped at the trashcan to discard it. We stepped away, he frisked a certain dog (Typhoon), and continued our walk. We said hello to the two DNR officers parked there. They were busy stopping cars leaving the area and inspecting licenses and harvests, but were friendly and cheerful to us.
We went to the marsh, watched the action for a while, and then walked back up the road. The two officers wished us a good day, distracting Hu-Dad for a second.
We weren’t distracted at all. He thought we were looking at the mountain of shells, planning a heist. But we weren’t.
We were looking at the cat sitting on the top of the shells. The feline was rubbing its paws, gloating over its pile of gold.
Maybe not exactly, but the cat was clearly happy to be in the pile of oyster shells and Typhoon was clearly unhappy the cat was in the pile of oyster shells. The rest of us were just fascinated with a cat.
Typhoon launched himself. We joined. Our leashes went taut, the carabineers connected to Hu-Dad’s waist belt clanged, he fell to the ground and we dragged him in hot pursuit of the cat. Shells flew through the air, we howled, the cat yowled, and everyone cheered.
Maybe not exactly.
Typhoon did launch. We joined. Leashes went taut and carabineers clanged. But Hu-Dad remained upright. His shoes might have left skid marks in the sandy surface of the road, but we didn’t drag him through the mountain of shells.
But we tried. And that cat ran away really, really fast, yowling its displeasure at us.
Oh, and the two DNR officers? They laughed. Long and hard.
Glad, once again, we have amused law enforcement at Hu-Dad’s expense. You would think he is used to it by now.
Read Another Story
← Back One Story ◊ OR ◊ Forward One Story →