The unicorns are on the hunt again.

I could hear them this morning, roaming the house in a pack, fierce carnivores in search of prey. I picture them with snow-white skin, flowing manes and tails, and blood dripping from their golden horns.

After all, you should hear the things these unicorns say to each other.

"OK, there's a daddy bear," says the chief unicorn. "You have to help me get him." The other members of the pack whinny their assent, and the next thing he knows, the poor fat bear, who was just lumbering along through the forest in search of berries, is surrounded.

"Get him! Bite, kick, stab!" the leader directs her crew. Soon their prey lies lifeless beneath their hooves. As one, they neigh their triumph to the sky.

Next it's the second-in-command's turn to strike out on her own. Standing in the bathroom, I pause in my morning routine to hear my sweet, sweet, second-born shriek out her blood-thirsty unicorn cries.

"There's a wolf! Let's kill the beast! I will stab him--there! STAB!" She whinnies loudly. "A-HA! Now he's MEAT!"

And the unicorn herd rides off into the sunset to hunt another day, leaving an imaginary trail of bloody carcasses scattered around my living room.