In Pursuit of the Wild Hare

There is a dog named Zoey. Her life of leisure includes chasing squirrels and for that matter, any small rodent that should fall with in her sphere of vision. The chase usually starts with an extended period of concentration, a time when she just sits and observes, maybe thinks of an appropriate move, or the subtle time she needs to make the outing a success.

Interestingly, success is apparently not to catch the animal for food but to just chase it. Some of the initial effort is mere posturing with a front leg lifted. She stands almost regal as if posing for a dog show. It is a game. Not a totally serious game because she does not need the protein of the rabbit, she does not even need the exercise, she does it for fun. It appeared so senseless---just the chase, no end to the journey.

In a final burst, she dashes for a squirrel,  the bushy tail runs up the tree, she stands against the trunk, front paws reaching high and tongue out in glee. Eventually, she steps back and then sits down, head held high watching the squirrel bound through the branches. I almost get the feeling if she caught an animal it would be released after a gently mouthing.

So what is the deal? Is this a metaphor of some sort?  On this same day, we fished on the back waters of the Mississippi for probably four hours and in the process tossed our rubber weedless frogs to endless accumulations of floating duck weed. Thirty strikes from thirty fish and not one was landed, we stalked in our elegant gear, we studied the settings, we approached quietly with out rods held high, poised to launch the perfect cast. Had we landed a fish, it would have been returned unharmed. Are we but dogs?