Phoebe killed another squirrel yesterday. I think this is the third one this month. The younger ones don’t realize the fragility of their own mortality, much like human teenagers. They take awful chances taunting our yellow-dog-who-moves-like-a-cat and once she sinks her teeth in their necks they are goners. She’s becoming more possessive of her victims with each kill. Last time she would pick up her victim’s body and drop in on the opposite end of the yard when she saw us outside. Yesterday she tried to bring her latest kill into the house. This morning we watched her search for a place to hide her new toy. She found some soft dirt at the edge of the garden and dug a small hole. She dropped the body in the hole, and with her muzzle she carefully pushed leaves and mulch into place to camouflage the little grave, much as her victim might have camouflaged a pecan. The tail remained exposed to mark the site.