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We invited some wonderful friends over for dinner last night.
After they arrived, the Big Bison’s hunting buddy asked him if he would show him the fateful spot where my husband was splitting wood the afternoon he had his heart attack. Deacon D. Dawg walked out to the wood pile with them, and, as is his habit, he hauled a great big piece of firewood back to the house in his jaws, just to show off his Mad Retriever Skillz.
|Is this boy proud or what? How about them ears???|
We think that little walk might have been what stirred up the trouble.
They might have trespassed onto what something else viewed as its territory.
Because, otherwise, there’s really no accounting for what happened next.
During their little walk to the woodpile, the other guests arrived, and so everyone came inside, and we did introductions for those who were unacquainted, and we were just about to put the food on the table, when, from behind me, I heard my husband’s hunting buddy make a loud, kind of high-ish pitched noise that sounded like this:
Now, this guy’s a pretty tough guy, and, in general, not prone to making girly sounding noises, and so I thought, “This must be something significant for him to make a sound like that. I better check it out.” And I quickly turned and went to the kitchen door where he was standing, looking outside. And saw this:
|The uninvited guest.|