Squirrel Soup

Our dear crazy dog loves a good dance number.
I promise you, I was teaching her how to belly dance last night.
We had matching skirts and bras and everything!
I put a wig and some lipstick on her, gave her a few brief instructions on how to stand on your hind legs..

"Whatever you do, try to stay standing," I cajoled.
"It's not bellydance if you don't!" I threatened.

The old girl got it and we were wiggling up a storm, balancing flaming swords on the tips of our noses, pouring each other scalding hot tea from elevated heights--We were moving, we were shaking, we were baking some proverbial chicken...In our minds.
(I don't know, work with me here).

"Whew, " I sighed, "What a workout!"
"Thank you little lady," I curtsied.
She bowed politely and went on her merry way, still a bit riled up from the dance number and tugging on her rope toy, which I forgot to say that we did plenty of too.

She was going a bit berserk in fact and tore outside, barking like the screaming beejesus to prove it.

Not too much later all was quiet and our Canine of Ill Repute was sitting quietly on her cushy little floor throne, when I heard a bearded scream from my roommate.

It seems that after an arduous round of dancing middle-easterly there is nothing to satisfy a pup more than to kill a squirrel and drag it's lifeless little corpse into the kitchen for someone to throw in a pot and add some potatoes to.

We decided, it being a depression and all, that the only forward-thinking thing to do was to whip up a quick batch of Squirrel Soup and carry it door to door, offering a little extra support to our neighbors and friends in this, our communal time of great need.

It was a raging success and we all got stuffed. The end.