I didn't tell you about the really SCARY time I had last Sunday, did I? Well that was the day that I set off for the walk out of Pontaubert. It was a lovely stroll really, starting as it did wandering along country lanes up towards Avallon. Walking through villages, alongside babbling brooks, through forest, woods and stuff (I know - same old, same old), I started to hear gun shots and dog howlings off to my left. Now came the flooding memories of stories about mad, drunk hunters in charge of weapons capable of blowing elephants to kingdom come mistaking gentle rambling souls such as yours truly for game (boar, elk, rabbit, hart, penguin - you name it). I am most certainly NOT ready to depart this world, especially at the hands of inebriated, gun-totin' looneys of a French disposition and/or extraction, so I began yelling into the surrounding curtain of trees and saplings, "HULLOOO", "HULLOOO", "HULLOOOOOOO"!
I never ever saw a hunter. Nor a dog. However, I am pleased to report that I did make it through. Perhaps this was a result of the fact that the hunters were located at the other side of the forest and heading in a diametrically opposed direction. Or maybe, just MAYBE, the group of hunters, along with their faithful dogs, HEARD my plaintiff cries and lowered their sights JUST IN THE NICK IF TIME to avoid a trigger-squeeze that would send Old Groomby off to an early grave deep in the heart of the Morvan.
Just think about THAT ONE for a mo' or two ...
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