One of the many things I love about Bud is that he has no sense of being small or of having been brutally, almost fatally, mistreated. He came to us a sick and cowering mess, near death, almost terrified of almost everything. He has evolved into the classic Boston Terrier – full of himself, convinced he has the power of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and brimming with absolute confidence.

He’s not afraid of anything now, although he is cautious around Amish horses, rushing furiously at them, but losing interest once they stare down in amazement at him.

In the warm weather, he loves to be outside and hunt. He hunts mice, squirrels, chipmunks, and moles. He would hunt chickens if we let them near him (he got the Big Red Hen) He very rarely catches anything, but that never deters or discourages him.

Inside the house, he is like a baby toy, cuddly, affectionate, dozing. Outside, he is a full-blown monster. In his two years of hunting, he’s caught a mole, a mouse (we think), and a chipmunk. We think he ate the chipmunk.

He loves to stalk his prey, hunkering down in the tall weeds for hours, waiting. He never gets bored or loses his heart.

This morning, I went out with the new Leica2 and waited for a bit. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was in there. After a few minutes I squeaked like a chipmunk and his head popped up right in front of me. I was ready.

This may be my favorite picture of the Little King Bud, the mighty hunter.