Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Another entry for Tom Beckett's "spooky" file

I like owls. I like frogs, especially the little green ones which, if you wet your fingers, you can stroke on the back without them moving. I think I have just discovered that owls like frogs, but for a different reason.

I found a bone dangling from the clothes-line when I went to hang the washing out. What looks like a leg bone, about an inch long, caught on the wire by a curlicue of drying sinew. A small delicate bone. Very much what I would imagine a frog's bone to be like.

The hastily assembled Rockhampton CSI team - me & the cat - have re-created the crime scene thus. A serial killer is on the loose. Has swooped down & snatched up the frog, stuck it in the back of its panel van & retreated to the trees. Eaten the frog, spitting out the bones as it goes. When replete it has returned to the ground, picked up a bone in its talons & hung it on the clothes-line as a warning to all & sundry, a boasting message.

I am expecting poetic emails to the local paper any day now. Signed mort aux grenouilleux. m.a.g. for short. An august name. 

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