Too mean to cry about it

Left Behind

I tried to think of a story that would make it look like I was attacked by a large badger while taking a nap down by the river. Not one to suffer rude awakenings lightly I grabbed a big rock and conked him. Having stunned him I got out my lock-back and hacked off his right hand, leaving him to figure out how to get around on three wheels. But who's going to believe that? I must have thought I was Nancy Pelosi.

Here in Iowa, some people find old Indian arrowheads. Others find good things to eat like Morel mushrooms. Not me. I tend to find things that even coyotes and maggots aren't interested in. I didn't have to look hard for this foot. It was laying in my path like a $20 bill. Whoa! What's this? Sure is a damn big foot. What the hell did it come off of and how did it wind up here?

After getting it home I snapped a picture of it and e-mailed it to the feedlot naturalist who we all know as PTG. From the way it's mangled up he thought it must have gotten caught in a trap. There were no other badger parts anywhere to be seen, nor did I see blood or fur.

My other naturalist, a mysterious woman out in the Southwest Indian country, said the badger probably chewed its foot off. The picture suggests he might have started on his little finger before resigning himself to the grim task.
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