This is the time of year when we start to see the results of Tibby's and Blue's hunting.
They leave their catches out and about. Sometimes all we find is parts.
It's gross.
Ahem.
And now a haiku:
The dead of winter
are gathered in our back yard.
Don't step on any.
And a limerick:
There once was a girl in Solsberry,
whose animals refused to bury.
The rabbits and mice,
and moles became ice.
Their corpses made winter quite scary.
P.S. I did not illustrate this post. I think you know why.
