Dear Mister Ed

It was nice to see the Easter Rabbit treated the Anny Lake area so good last week. From the piles of little round malt balls all over my yard, he had his hole fambly workin’ with him.

It must be a high time fer the rabbits like it gets evry few years, if a feller was to go by the number of koyotes hereabouts. Some nites when the moon is up to par, it looks like the Willy Koyote fan club is out fer a nite on the town.

The call of nachur is evrywheres out here, with critters of all sorts and sizes on dissplay. Must say, I get a reel kick watchin’ how they carry on.

That sqwirrel I rote you about last time has been at the bird feeder evry day, with his tale curled up to keep his back warm, puttin’ back seeds like his life depends on it. Come to think on it, I spose it does.

Anyways, he’s got so sturdy-bilt, I even gave him his own nick name.

I call him Horence, after this old spring-shot Ford I had in P.E.I. back in the 19 and 70’s, by the name of Horence the Horrible Haff-ton.

Ain’t seen any bears yet, but I did get a surprize vissit a few days back that has me scratchin’ my head yet.

Round ten in the ayem I was at the kitchen table with a fresh pot of tea, browsin’ thru the spring catalog from Seers, the place you useta work when it was some other place.

Still ain’t sure what made me look up all on a sudden, but rite there next to the tool shed was a fine-lookin’ red fox, starin’ at me like he cud read my mind.

But here comes the strange part.

You see, fer some time I’ve had a noshun to run a few layin’ hens, so’s I can have a fresh egg when I want one. And the very page I was at in the catalog was the one with fence posts and chikken wire.

Now I can’t prove it, but I’ll sware that fox was lickin’ his lips as he stared at me, thinkin’ how he mite soon be in fer some free grub.

The long and short is, I figgered it best to dubble up on the wire. I don’t mind feedin’ birds and sqwirrels, but I’ll be hanged if I’ll hand out a free foul dinner to anythin’ with four legs and a stommick that comes to call.

Gotta run now, Darrol. I’m a bit behind on a projeckt I been workin’ on.

See, the swans are back from down South. But with winter stayin’ so late, I was worryed about the poor things standin’ around in the cold. So I reckoned I cud make ’em all little bootys like the sled dogs wear.

The big swan party is almost on us, and I still got a few hunderd pares to go. Wish me luck.

Yer pal,

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