Did I Ever Tell You The Story...

... about when a mountain lion ate my dog?

You see...

 my parents live in Dallas, Texas. 

Right smack dab in the middle of the city.

I grew up five minutes from the Galleria,

but the plot of land I grew up on

sits on a giant flood plain 

that (by law) can't ever be developed.

A creek extends through the plain

 creating some gorgeous ravines and

offering some untouched relief from the busy metroplex.

But here's the thing:

As this city grows bigger and denser,

this forgotten area is becoming a bit of a wildlife shelter.

Coyotes are constantly cruising the field,

bobcats and their babies are always tumbling in the hedges,

and snakes slither their way into our pool in the summer heat.

No big deal, right?

Right.

But everything took a turn for the worst

when we returned from Italy last year 

to the shocking news that our yorkie-poo, Winston, 

had been eaten on my parents back porch 

by a mountain lion.

a. mountain. lion.

{also know as a "cougar"}

I agree. Winston WAS the cutest thing ever.

No one was quite sure what had happened 

until a tracker, sent by the city, 

found it's enormously huge and scary paw prints

in the flower beds by the pool.

Obviously, we were devastated.

I got a phone call upon landing at O'Hare

and proceed to sob pathetically after hearing the news

{like, the snotty, gasping, ugly kind}

all the way home to Dallas.

A year and half later,

 I'm okay.

To be honest- 

I have no clue how I would exist in England 

taking care of a dog right now.

But even that journey of self-healing couldn't prepare me 

to find THIS at my feet last night

while chatting on the back porch.

A tarantula?

Sick. Ew. Gross. Blech.

Is a tarantula better or worse than a mountain lion?

I really don't know,

but I do know this:

England is free of natural disasters and poisonous animals.

Take me home, country roads.

*all photos original to Aspiring Kennedy