And then there was the day Reynard came calling. As I stepped around the corner of the House on some errand, there he was, sniffing the ground. I stopped with a start, unsure of how to react, tentatively calling “Bonjour, Maitre Renard”, not wanting him to run. He didn’t seem scared, but didn’t seem keen to stay either; just sauntered off at his own elegant pace, cool as a cucumber, brush straight up in the air, giving me a last look over his shoulder as he slipped under the fence: “Some other time, perhaps”.
But I never saw him again, though he would be welcome, to cull the hordes of rabbits growing plump on my lantanas and geraniums (lantanae? gerania?) – and even on the barks of the fruit trees, the fucking little bastards.
3 comments:
Mr Pigeon, Mrs Dove, Mr & Mrs Sparrow, Mr Rabbit, and now Maitre Renard......
What else?....Mr Boar?...Mr Deer?
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Look, there`s Mr Fool.....tá tá rá tá.....tá tá, the trumpet sounds
Take care, Mr. Fool, some day you`ll be the intruder, not "The Deer Hunter", but "The Dear Hunted"
Take care, says ManoVelho
Following the close encounter with Mr. Fool, Maitre Renard, smart as ever, returned home, and seated in his couch, rubbing his nose, began to wonder, where in hell, did he know that face ( that`s why he looked over his shoulder ); he put his spectacle on, went straight to his shelves, and all of a sudden.....click, that`s it,.....the entire collection of ROUDOUDOU`s, the lamb, cartoons
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Mr. Fool?...Roudoudou? Lamb?!!!???
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Well, Roudoudou, was Mr Fool`s "petit nom", our mother gave him when he was about six or seven years old
I`ve told you, Mr Fool
Take care
ManoVelho
Errata: not mother, but grand mother
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