El Toro

RRrrrrr, ssssssssssswwwwoooossssssshhhhhhh..Bahhhwwhhhuummmpppp.. Uh oh.. What is that? Oh no. There he was, entrails hanging out in all directions for the world to see. I kneeled down for a closer look, only to confirm the worst. Could he be saved? Patched? Sewn back together? There was nothing I could do. Mr. Giraffe had met his demise at the hands of El Toro. He was a good toy. He was enjoyed by some of the great puppies of the world. Well, two puppies, who are only great in K's eyes, but that's not the point. Guadalupe and Sandro (affectionately known as Lupe & Paunchy) were his biggest fans. For hours they would sit, contemplating the rough life of a dog in the Nash household, gnawing at Mr. Giraffe's head, tail, or whatever felt right and good at any given moment. They would always end a play session with him by lovingly licking his head, adding to the dried saliva collection and overall nastiness of the lovable entertainment. Curiously, Mr. Giraffe was devoid of any limbs. One little tail that was only days away from being detached was all he had, but they loved him nonetheless. Handicapped as it were, Mr. Giraffe provided countless hours of entertainment and oblivious joy. A stand in may be found, but a replacement?-Never.

I just wrapped up mulching the leaves in the back yard. Ugh. I'm not smart enough (or too lazy) to go buy a mask, so my mucus is appropriately peppered with the remnants of what was once full and green on our trees. The mower, a six and a half horsepower Toro mulching mower, did a masterful job of shredding them down to nothing. Unfortunately, one of the dogs (Lupe being the likely culprit) took Mr. Giraffe out to play when they were on a bathroom trip to the great outdoors. Of course, to avoid peeing on him, he was dropped in an innocuous pile of leaves. Unseen and unmissed by either myself or Karen, little could we know of the foreboding future of Mr. Giraffe.


Finished for now, I battled with the decision to move forth this morning. I knew I had better do it now, after mulching the front yard yesterday, because I wouldn't have time to do anything else in the back yard for another two weeks. This coming weekend, I have another date with my bruiser that awaits me in the woods of south Washington county. Up on the ridge, a bit beyond the hay rake he lies, not oblivious to the many hunters tramping around in the field in search of deer like him. The victor remains to be seen, but maybe next weekend, I'll have the venison to prove myself more cunning than he.
CZ