The killers next door. If you should find yourself in the vicinity, they are quick to remind you of your general nastiness and lack of rights to exist in the world.
Seven pounds of cumulative attack mass. Their bodily insignificance is worse than their bite.
Though with a few pats the smaller one warmed up. There are some endearing qualities beneath the temper-stoking, acidic yipping it seems.
And at least it stopped barking at me as I walked indoors. And the way I figure it, if the relationship goes south, I've got a great recipe for roast hen that I think would translate rather nicely. Dinner at my place, ya'll...
(as a side note, Brother Beer showed me how to do these nifty photo borders. what do ya think? i think i like them. we'll see if it sticks for the future...)