Ironically, it’s the tedium I treasure most — long treks through the boundless backcountry, collating memories and half-eaten dreams. But if it’s solitude that fills a man’s soul, it’s the flash of danger that hones it, gives it purpose, shows a man what he was meant to be.
I’d been tracking the great buck for over a week, never certain if I was hot or cold. More than once, a random clue offered hope: a few strands of floof among the azaleas, an errant paw print on the dining room carpet. But always nothing.
I was ready to return to base camp for supplies. That’s when I saw him.
He was even bigger than I imagined, with a thick, luxurious coat of prime quality floof, worth thousands on the open market — but only in one piece. The trick was to scare the creature out of its skin so that the floof could be taken whole. And for that, I’d have to sneak up from behind.
Seizing the advantage of cover, I made my approach. I had only a moment to settle on a method; with the younger ones a simple “geeba, geeba, geeba!” is enough, but the big males are harder to startle. Quietly, I reached for my air horn…
Alice H. says: “Meet Daisy, our lovely nine-year-old Maine Coon and our brand new three-month-old rescued kitten Ricky Stubbs. Stubby is absolutely obsessed with Daisy’s tail and just can’t help himself from stalking her, sneaking up behind her and taking a swipe. This can go on for half an hour or so with Daisy hissing patiently over her shoulder until she finally gets pissed off and lets him have it.”