Throwback Thursday: Spoiled Rotten and Silly Wabbits


The place I was spoiled most

This picture was taken at my grandmother’s house, my favorite place in the world. To say she spoiled me would be like saying the Vietnam War was a police action; technically true, but grossly under states the scale of it.  Two things I remember fondly besides the spoiling:  The house was a refuge I escaped to from home and what I thought was persecution that rivaled the Soviet Union in the 1960s.  My grandmother pampered me, bought me things and basically enabled my parental defiance.  Praise God for grandmothers.

In the background is another of my favorite things about the house.  My uncle’s beagle, Rusty.  When my uncle took me rabbit hunting, almost every Saturday of rabbit season in upstate New York, Rusty kicked up and chased the the tasty fur balls for what seemed like hours at a time.  I remember waiting near the spot he first started the chase, listened to his bellows fade away, in a kind of slow motion Doppler effect, but eventually got louder again as he circled back to us circle back to us.  I remember the waiting, oblivious to the adverse weather that always seemed to accompany us, finger on the safety, eyes scanning the bushes like some human radar dish, until when I finally saw the long eared rodent position itself under the bead of my 16 gauge semi-auto.  We ate a lot of wild rabbit in the fall.

BTW, I found Elmer Fudd funny but insulting.  Hunters, in my opinion, are not gullible idiots.


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