As I was taking my pooch for a walk this morning, I remarked to myself that he seemed to be getting entirely too blimpy for his own good and decided to let him off the lead (we were in the woods) and told him to go hunt for himself for his brunch. He barked an: “Aye, aye, Sir!” and sped off to the nearest tree and started sniffing and circling it, not realising that treat trees are out of season! (silly dog…) He finally got so disgusted with the tree’s reply to his en-‘treat’-y that he lifted his hind leg and pissed against it. “Serves him right!”, he barked. Next he stopped a rabbit and tried to threaten it into revealing the whereabouts of its eating bowl, but lucked out again, as the rabbit fell over stupefied.
He did get directions to the nearest supermarket from a passing turkey and took me there post haste. I lost sight of him as he was stalking a roast chicken, which had been waylaid by a fellow hunter, after he whispered to me, droolingly: “Hunt your own, manling!” (I guess in actuality he was stalking the hunter, but I won’t belabour the point) I found him again at the checkout, where he told me that apparently I had to pay a fee for his hunting permit. It was either that or leave half a leftover chicken behind for the scavengers. I was rather proud of my great big hunting dog and dutifully forked over the fee!