An English In Kentucky


















June 5th 2010    Tim Candler

    Hadn't seen the creature responsible for damage to bean sprouts in the vegetable garden.  And I am not sure that I will.

    Often I have blamed Dove.  The sort of incompetent reasoning that results from an eye contact with Dove that leaves me with the impression they are stealthy in their innocence.   That peaceful cooing is plot making, rather than a placid infatuation.   They are guilty, I know, of something.

    Too often in the morning my emergence surprises Dove, and I see them fly, but I am never certain which vegetable bed they were waddling in because when they fly suddenly their wings produce a sound that jolts me into a defensive posture, every time I hear it.   Old and shattered nerves made worse by the moles tunneling beneath my feet, I'll soon be gripping the walker and shaking the cane.


   So it is a mistake to take the evening stroll.   Wander out to admire the results of rain, check staking mechanisms designed to protect the fragile against straight-line winds that rain accompanies.   See Potato flattened and understand why Crabgrass is so successful.   Then find a Little Rabbit amongst the Tomato.

     Logic might conclude it a good idea to have a gate that opens easily, so that when the occasion arises creatures can be chased out of an enclosed space without a hiatus that involves grappling.   Like a Leopard I crept and like a Wallaby I struggled with the gate.   To no avail because a Little rabbit is like a Quail, they both can politely sidle through a two inch by four inch wire fence link.

     Damned if I know what game the Grey Cat plays these days.   The stomach and spleen of two voles on the carpet this morning is so far from sufficient at this time of year.  

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