I was reminded that my recent trip to the woods failed to include all my pals and therefore some proof of kinship was in order. All them road miles leading up to my “whang-leather” hardened-frame had not been shared with other road-conscious neighborhood residents and somebody was owed …

Some-thing was owed … and mightily …

As he’s a product of a “broken home” whose owners flit about the Northern Hemisphere slurping aging grape juice, ignoring any real responsibility, which is the hallmark of the true Californio, given we only tinker with Sushi so we can amuse tourists…

… and as Little Meat lacks any real pals to play with we did the Mud Junket, only this time absent any real supervision …

So we spent most of the day catching fish and making crayfish swim so we could capture their silhouette accurately. The gaily colored “mud bugs” being lightning fast swimmers, and appear only as a set of claws being drug behind the body, with no other movement apparent.

Except the jaws on Little Meat, who finds them quite the treat when they’re exhausted …

… and outside of the week-old flatty cottontail we met on the trek into the creek, offers an opportunity for the rare roll should we find them already deceased and upwind.

Now that I’ve properly tuckered his fuzzy little arse out, I’m permitted to boast of our outing …