My Great Big Hunting Dog…


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Pic by Droopy Dog Fandub on Youtube

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!

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Swallowing a Really Really Really Big Fish


Wonderful picture!

Cindy McIntyre's Blog

I was sitting on the beach at Jekyll Island, Georgia on Monday, and saw a wood stork fishing in the ocean about a quarter mile away.  Not only did I not know the storks fished in saltwater, but I also was amazed that it was quite close to some fellows seining for shrimp.  It wasn’t begging, but was perhaps an opportunist, hoping that the activity would scare up something yummy.  I decided to go for a closer look, and just as I got there this guy/gal caught a fish.  A really really really big fish.

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My “Post”: The Story of Stupid


Lovely story by Lilly of the Apron, who almost last her head!

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

There once was a fence—a white rod-iron fence—

to keep big pines in from wandering the neighborhood,

or perhaps it was to keep cars out from trespassing the corner yard.

Didn’t work.

A car left a gaping hole in the yard’s mouth;

it stayed that way for months.  Years?

Fix it?  Okay.

Last week, it was laid as flat as a downed fence,

waiting . . . waiting.

This week, it was gone . . . all but one post,

one lonely post,

one malevolent post

ready to pounce.

A pounce post!

I rounded the corner on my bike,

dog on leash in tow.

Stupid to not have gone out in the street,

stupid, stupid.

Trash cans were holding a conversation with the lone post,

but keeping their distance,

plotting how to arrest those who ride on sidewalks

rather than on busy streets—maybe.

Or maybe talking about the weather.

“Incredible…

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