Too bad Farmer H and the #1 son had a previous engagement tonight. I coulda cooked up a rip-snorting pot o' vittles for our supper. It would have been wasted on just me and The Pony. This is one time that opportunity knocked and was left standing on the porch while I peered at him through the peephole, pretending I wasn't home, trying to control my breathing so he couldn't hear.
Nature's rich bounty beckoned to me all the way to school this morning. Not two miles from the Mansion was a squashed possum. No need to tenderize that varmint. His meat was already falling off his bones. While I bemoaned the loss of such a prime ingredient for the stewpot, a turtle snuck up on me. Not so much snuck up, as laid on the road in his cracked armor daring me to pop a tire by driving over his shattered shell. I envisioned a tasty batch of turtle brittle. But alas, no time to stop. Freshmen wait for no woman. Hi ho, hi hent, it's off to school I went. Halfway there, the third course made its appearance. An armadillo, complete with shell. You don't see those things every day. He was kind of ensconced in his own boilin' bag. I could imagine burying him in the coals of my fire pit out back by the cement pond, and roasting him in his own juices. No need to even waste foil wrapping him. Too bad, so sad. I had to pass him by. Time constraints, you know.
With a little ingenuity, I'm sure The Pony could have rigged up a slingshot of sorts with his car charger and some half-full water bottles. He could have bagged me some four and twenty blackbirds from those pecking at my main ingredients. Then we might have had a pie.
Those critters really need to attend a road-crossing seminar presented by a chicken.