Stella: Run! Run! Get away as fast as you can! You can thank me later. Me, Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges.
Me: Stella, what’s wrong?
Stella: Take a deep breath through your limited human nose.
Me: Whoa! Who did that?
Stella: Miss Sweetie. It was a gas attack.
Me: Poor Miss Sweetie.
Stella: Poor us, you mean. Run! Run for your lives! No, not you, Sweetie. You stay right there.
Me: Our lives are not in danger.
Stella: You could’ve fooled me.
Me: Whoa, Sweetie! What did you eat?
Stella: It’s the fault of the chickens. They pushed an egg out of their run. Right at her. On purpose. They know she has no self-control when it comes to their eggs. Wicked chickens.
Me: Maybe they were being friendly.
Stella: Friendly? Stinking up the whole world is friendly?
Me: It’s not the whole world. It’s really just a few feet around Miss Sweetie.
Stella: No, Lady Human, the chickens conspired to run us from the yard. I am a queen. Queens know when there is a conspiracy afoot.
Me: Afoot? You have been watching too much Sherlock.
Stella: Or have you been watching too much Sherlock? That may be part of their plan, too.
Me: Why would they care if you are in the yard? They have their run and their house. They don’t even cross paths with you.
Stella: Chickens are smarter than humans give them credit for being. They are planning a takeover. Do you see how they hunker down together like a big pile of fuzz? That’s when they discuss it. Oh no, maybe the squirrels are in on it!
Me: Okay, time for some fresh air, Stella. I think the gas has gone to your head.
Stella: That’s it! We need gas masks. Tell Tall Man to get some. Like the one he wears when he cuts the grass and pretends to be a giant insect. Bulldogs will not be outsmarted by chickens. We will defeat this conspiracy. We will all look like giant insects. I can’t wait to see what the chickens will have to say about that.
Copyright 2017 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.
Bulldoggy 
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