Happiness is watching our Abbey-dog chase squirrels in the backyard.

Most mornings if I see one in the backyard helping itself to a morning feast, I say, “Hey Abbey” in an urgent stage whisper. That dog could be in a coma five states away and still hear me say that.

A split second later, you hear a “thunk” — its her jumping off our bed. And then you hear her race down the stairs. Usually, I wait until she’s at the back door next to me. The door has panes of glass that start foot from the bottom, so she can easily see outside.

Once she locates her prey, she starts whimpering. She’s just itching to get out there.

When I quickly open the door, she shoots out like a rocket. She runs up the steep hill in our backyard.

The squirrel gets this all too familiar “Oh SHIT” look in its eyes. It drops its breakfast and runs toward our retaining wall with Abbey’s breath warming its little brown/grey butt. She’s pretty fast and agile but she hasn’t caught one yet. (And that’s good. Because that little varmit might have a family to take care of. And I’d hate to see it get hurt. But it IS a pretty funny scene.)

Once she chases it up a tree or onto the retaining wall, she has to sniff the entire yard. She has the same bold swagger as the detective in a cliched police drama. She’s on to that squirrel. No critter is going to pull one over on HER. (Which is deliciously ironic to the chipmunks watching the entire production two feet from our patio.)

Usually, we all gather around the bay windows in our breakfast room to watch. Who needs Good Morning America or even Kelly and Regis when you’ve got that sort of entertainment?

I don’t know what we’d do without our Abbeydog.