Drowsiness was just starting to set in up here on the “writer’s perch” this morning, but it was not to be. Many, if not most visits here are of the mounted variety, so this occasion was usual. My dose would be postponed.
It was a “country conversation”, if you will. My wife, still mildly riled over her coon incident the other day, imparted the most recent drama. Sightings of a “gigundo” groundhog near the horse barn have lately been dominating the banter.
At the risk of affronting any sensitivities, I will posit this: I hate groundhogs ! Surely they don’t belong on a horse farm.
Why? Short course: They dig holes, holes wherever. Horse steps in hole. Horse breaks leg. Horse needs to be put down. End course !
Not to mention, they are snarly, viscous beasts! The notion of Jude confronting one in the barn is unsettling to me, to say the least.
The groundhog that Judy saw this morning took one look at her and immediately scampered… to the barn. It had discovered a way to scrunch under a door and inside the barn. This, of course, the very same barn that Jude works in every morning.
I will endeavor this morning to set a trap. Now don’t worry, all of you groundhog huggers. A HavaHart trap. Once the monster is caged, I make no promises.