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July 2nd 2010    Tim Candler

    When a wandering hound lifts its leg to a Candy Roaster growing innocently outside the fence, it's time to ask how the ancients might have responded.   My own reaction was to jump up and down yelling in what I thought was a ferocious way.  Then the wretched creature wagged its floppy tail, and continued to do so as I chased him with a hose pipe.

     In the end I was able to discourage this hound by beating the lid of the big pot that lives beside the outdoor stove.  The noise of it still rings in my ears, and I am exhausted from running around in the sun without my hat.   And my voice hurts from shouting obscenities at dog-kind and dog people generally and that whole kingdom of bloody pet-dom. 

  

 

   Pretty certain members of the Cherokee Nation would have eaten meat tonight.   Little boys would have been stationed in the bushes beside their Candy Roaster grove, bow and arrow at the ready.  Silently they would wait, and oh for a simpler time and good eyesight.  It's the collar on a dog that means it belongs, apparently.

    Odd to think that this time last week I wasn't here.   God knows what has been going on that this hound should wander around in so impolite a manner.   Nor is the Grey Cat of much use, because something with front teeth has been eating the carrots.

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