Bea runs under the feeder, and birds scatter. If the birds are mourning doves, then they flutter away in a pigeonharrumph of noisy wings. If they are thrushes, they sometimes have the temerity to perch in a limb of the small tree, and linger.
Bea stalks under the feeder, as if flushing more birds, and then she walks around the yard. Sometimes our other dog, Ted, joins us, but Ted pays no attention to birds.
When we walked our dogs by the pond last night, Bea and Ted did not notice the mallard duck and her ducklings swimming on the pond.
Yet when I say "let's go chase some birds", Bea hops into action. It's as much a part of her morning as morning coffee might be of someone else's.
