Like every other Sunday night, after dinner I let the dogs out before I retire to my office to write this week’s blog post. As soon as the patio door slid open my ears were filled with the noise of blood curdling shrieks soaring high above our farm in the crisp November air. From my limited knowledge, it sounded like a medium sized rodent pleading for its life while struggling in the talons of it’s attacker. Squirrel is on the menu tonight. Party of one.
Read MoreKaren throws her “Mamma Bear” coffee cup she got on their summer trip to Gatlinburg in the coyote’s direction and starts running towards her home and her son, determined to beat the wild dogs to the destination. As she reaches her front door, panicked and afraid, she turns to look behind her. The coyotes are gone. Seemingly vanished as quickly as the fog did.
Read MoreIt did not matter if they were carved or uncarved. Those little gluttons would feast all night on my pumpkins and gourds and leave me with nothing but seeds and stems by morning. (reminds me of an old roommate).
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