It’s hunting season in the Wren Lodge

You might call Hubby an amateur hunter. He’s a good one, too — when he fixes his sights on a target, that target better just say its prayers.

Hubby: Say your prayers! (thwack!)

Hubby’s determination and persistence never let him down, either. He follows a trail with the patience of a man who knows what he wants and always gets his way.

Hubby: There you are… you little… (thwack!) HA!

Some hunters are satisfied with the ubiquitous deer head trophies mounted on their walls. Not Hubby.

Bonnie: Oh, yuck! Why is THIS on the wall?

Hubby: That was the biggest dang skeeter I’ve ever seen! Look at that sucker! It took a chunk out of me, too… but I got it! HA! (to the smashed mosquito wall-hanging) You thought you were great stuff, hunh? Now look at you! Laid low… by the KING!

What, you thought I was talking about big game, like moose or deer or even bear? Believe me: no venison hunter was ever as proud of his trophies as Hubby is of his.

Bonnie: Scrape it off!

Hubby: Not on your life. It’s a warning to those other skeeters out there. (to all the other skeeters) Hey! YOU! You want a piece of ME? YOU WANT… A PIECE… OF ME?

4 Replies to “It’s hunting season in the Wren Lodge”

  1. Hee. Perhaps I should pack up my latest pile ‘o dead flies and mail them to him. Some smeared nicely on the window screen.

  2. I must turn down that thoughtful offer, Pat. But thanks! Really! Got plenty over here!

    Bonnie: Why are there dead fly bodies on my kitchen counter?

    Hubby: (thwack!) HA! That makes three! Count ’em! (flicks flyswatter) One, (flick) two, (flick) THREE! (flick, flick, flick)

    Bonnie: But why are there dead —

    Hubby: BOYS! Come take a look at THIS!

  3. Hey chill babe It’s consistent with our evolution – men are hunters and the women are gatherers!

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