In support of feral cats and other scavengers

Walking the dogs is always an adventure, but this time of year in Minnesota, it becomes a particularly gruesome adventure. All the icky things that were safely frozen in snowbanks all winter thaw and start to rot. The smokers start to smoke more without the threat of frostbite. Birds mate and build nests. People eat fried chicken on their porches. So in addition to the half-eaten sandwich from Subway's January special, Cricket and Nick try to eat the fresh piles of cigarette butts, the chicken bones people (inexplicably) throw in their streets, the crusty old carcasses of animals that froze to death in February, and most disgustingly (to me, at least), the baby birds that fall out of the nest. Then, of course, they want to give me kisses. It seems like this year is especially bad. Where are the scavengers? The feral cats, the raccoons, whatever else eats this stuff before my dogs get to it? I want them back!