Last evening, I spied a large brown cricket crawling under the slipcover of a couch armrest in our living room. Buck was just about to bring his arm down on the armrest to make a point about some news item we had been watching on television.
“It’s a cricket!” I said, pointing. The downward swing of Buck’s arm stopped in mid-air. He took a napkin and carefully captured the lively bug, then walked over to the sliding glass doors nearby and put the cricket out on the concrete patio.
Buck had just made it back to his seat on the couch when a mockingbird zipped by and made off with the cricket.