![]() The sheriff picked up the abandoned dog a few days later. ![]() It was a pitiful rabbit specimen, but I couldn’t stop in the middle of the chorus. Standing up, I crooned about the dog whining all the time. “That rascal with the slobbery flews,” I whispered, pulling the skin on either side of my mouth and shaking my head to imitate hound flews. Bending down until my face was an arm’s length from his, I placed a hand on each knee. It looked like the toothpaste tube my fist had wrapped around that very morning. ![]() He snatched up his rabbit, squeezing it in the middle and leaving it sagging from either side of his jaw. Ignoring Fox, I jumped right into the third iteration of my musical complaint, reminding the hound dog that he hadn’t ever caught a rabbit and would never be a friend of mine.įox didn’t like being ignored. Fox pranced a horseshoe pattern back and forth in front of me. I sang over Fox’s head, Elvis’s song about a hound who can’t catch a rabbit. Maybe it was on a leash or lazy or mired in quicksand-but that dog never moved from its one spot, a half mile away and an unimpeded line of sound and sight to my front door. I had my eyes uphill, on the hound across the gravel road. ![]() Fox had just caught a rabbit but dropped it as soon as he saw me dancing across the pasture in my cactus-crushing Wellies. ![]()
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