(He has this issue with the palmetto bugs, too. Many's the time I've heard falsetto shrieks of "EEEEYARAUGHHH! GIANT ROACH!" and leapt to his rescue only to find some inch-long waterbug spasming feebly in the sink.)
The Dingo, who has access to the outdoors, has resumed his depredations of the bird population, depositing various maladaptive specimens on the doorstep in exciting tableaux.
Although... His hunting, while servicable, isn't a wart on the fuzznuts of Spotty in his prime. The range and breadth of Spot's trophies was nothing short of awe-inspiring when he was a strapping, vital youth. I once saw him leap six feet or so into the air from a full couchant position to nail some hapless grackle on the wing. That shit was just amazing.
He's earned his right to be a malevolent old villain sleeping in the sun. Sort of like Cohen the Barbarian.
Context is QWP and lying in wait for its next unwary snack.