Rotten in Denmark
All work and no blogging makes Fred a dull boy. Or something like that.
Hot breath of the end of the year breathing down my neck, spent the best hours of my day reconciling two months bank accounts (gulp–must tighten belt several notches!) and getting PayPal funds shipped to the Bank of Floyd for the year and Text Link ad piddly income totaled.
It is brutal windy out, chill factor in single digits, and WE get to go crunching through the crusty snow to whatever dead thing du jour that the crows are feasting on half-way down the valley, tie a rope on it, and drag it–where? My truck is stalled behind the barn with a dead battery and an impassable creek crossing so can’t use it to haul away the carrion.
Wonder what the thing is? Through the binocs it seems too big to be anything but a very small deer–smaller than you’d expect this time of year.
Maybe that is what the pack of dogs was after yesterday afternoon. I got so distracted with all that barking and howling that I left the one egg of the day in my jacket pocket. I discovered it last night when I stuck my hand in my pocket. What’s that crunchy stuff? By that time, the liquid part had soaked into the lining of my jacket. For joy.
UPDATE 1007AMÂ Yep, it was a small deer, bloody marks first in the snow along the “new road”, then drug down into the pasture by predators much larger than the six crows that scattered as we approached. The snow was by then too hard to leave clear marks of the killer or killers.