Sir Henry is not a Hunter: Exhibit B

Today I was going through my usual post-run couch-to-the-kitchen-to-the-couch motion when I was stopped midstep in halfway to the fridge and asked myself a question:

Why on Earth, is my dog frozen?

He was literally, and I mean literally, frozen in place staring at something outside. I called his name a couple times and even opened up the fridge (which usually has him sprinting from anywhere in the house). No such luck.

Have aliens come and abducted my dog? Curiosity got the best of me and instead of making a grab for whatever food was closest, I closed the fridge and investigated.

The culprit?
Alvin the Chipmunk!


Yup. A widdle guy found his way from the big wild and onto the back porch step - right in Sir Henry's domain.
And what did my southern hunting dog do?

He froze. Henry choked!

Don't believe that this big, howling coonhound didn't so much as let out a whimper as this defenseless chipmunk naively stood on the step and munched away on his seed? 

I figured you wouldn't - so I took a video.

Henry's thought process: "I think I'm supposed to do something right now...but what? See a chipmunk, do....something! What do I do!? What to do, what to do...think...think think...OH! HE'S RUNNING! LOOK AT HIM GO! HE'S SO FAST! Oh crap. Wait. Can we start over? I think I remember what I was supposed to do. Hey - where'd he go?" 

To silent hounds,

Katie and Chris