Instinct versus rational thought

"What kind of a fox terrier are you anyway?"

Fellow pups, does this ever happen to you?

There you are, out on a walk near the river, happily bouncing around enjoying the freedom of being off the lead, when a fox crosses your path in broad daylight, right to left, and heads off into a thicket.

Obedience training forgotten, the prey instinct kicks in and before Gail can shout "come Bertie, COME, BERTIE NO NO NO!" you have disappeared into the bushes in hot pursuit.

And then caught up in the excitement of the moment, you race around in random directions, barking joyfully, and ....  you lose the scent.

For half a tail wag, you feel frustrated that Mister Fox has evaded your clutches. (Later Gail tells you he ran back across the track, left to right, slap bang in front of her, how could you have missed him?)

But soon you relax and return to Gail, thankful that you have a superior evolutionary strategy. You are a pet, not a working dog, and most definitely not wild creature dependent on your hunting skill to survive, and back home awaits a fire, a cosy cushion, and a full bowl of tasty kibble.

Nature red in tooth and claw...

Scientists are always arguing about Nature versus Nurture.

One of the things you have to put up with if you live in a scientific household is that your human is endlessly speculating about the origins of your behaviour.

Take toys for example. Just something to play with, right? Some are more fun than others, end of story?

Oh but no.

You see I have this great little mouse (or is it a hamster?) It was given me by a lovely lady called Diane. I have lots of wonderful toys but this one's my absolute favourite. It's all brown and fluffy and if you pull the tail it vibrates as it scoots across the floor. If I'm quick I can catch it in my mouth mid scoot, and after a few seconds the vibrations cease. I find this immensely enjoyable.

So of course there has to be a theory about why I like this toy best. A certain person, a friend of Gail's whom we shall call 'Rhoderick' ('cos that's his name) put forward the idea that when the vibration stops, it's as if the animal has died, and the reason I like the mouse is that it satisfies some primal urge to kill. An urge not otherwise satisfied if one's food supply comes in the form of dried pellets out of a packet labelled 'Burns Mini Bites'.

Well I wonder what you think about this hypothesis?

Should I be insulted by the implication that I may not be quite as sweet and innocent as I sometimes appear?

Or should I be proud of my killer instincts?

[By the way, for this blog post, Gail wanted me to pose for a photo with the mouse in my mouth, dripping tomato ketchup, but I vetoed the plan on grounds of bad taste. Aren't you glad?]