After years of ignoring the yardbirds, Flounder has recently taken up the sport of chicken chasing.
Not all the time mind you, just on weekends.
Not even every weekend, mostly he feels the urge on weekends when I am outside doing ... whatever it is I do out there.
Specifically, he feels the predatory urge on those days when I stir up the chickens for one reason or another ... say, playing rooster fight with Hoot or Vader, our two banty roosters.
(They start it)
The sound of a rooster attacking my tennis shoe seems to trigger something primal in Flounder and he will rouse himself from his porch blankey and relentlessly pursue the chickens.
At 12, it's a slow, partially toothless chase, but it's still a chase ...
On this day, Flounder had focused on Hoot, the "Ahhhnold" of banty roosters, like a heatseeking antichicken missle.
Hoot is also no spring chicken ... I don't know how chicken years are figured, but he's at least 4 human years old.
Hoot may be a birdbrain, but he's no fool. He headed for the cover of the JEEP and bubbawagon.
Hoot maintained his lead as they rounded the passenger side of the JEEP, but Flounder was gaining.
With an extra burst of speed, dredged up from deep in his meaty breast, Hoot gave Flounder the slip.
There was a moment of indecision ...
Then Flounder went into stealth mode, calmly searching beneath the JEEP for the poutrifinous pursuee.
Hoot, who had been hiding under the bubbawagon took this opportunity to scoot out the opposite side and into the woods, where he was met with loud (and seemingly derisive) cackling from Vader and Princess Laya who had sense enough to fly up onto a branch when Flounder first got the predatory urge.
After a little while, Flounder seemed to remember that there was a cozy blankey up on the porch and the yard became a peaceful place again.