It's a warm spring day. The kind everyone longs for after a hard winter.
I'm dressed in summer Commando gear, black face and all.
I am crawling one inch at a time with frequent pause so that I can blend into the new growth.
I have previously installed a remote control whistle 150 yards to the south I am approaching from the north.
This keeps my shadow from advancing in front of me. The wind is in my face. It must be,
I do not let myself become distracted by the flakes and pre forms in the loose soft dirt I am now dragging myself through. My quarry is mere feet away but unseen. My hart is pounding so much I stop to incorporate some deep breathing so I will not alert the nasty creature just feet before me. I can tell the filthy animal is active by the flies that are buzzing at the mouth of it's lair.
I activate the whistle and spring into action. I am lurching forward with both hands in choke mode as the
creature's ears and the back of it's neck are exposed above the surface of the lair.
In a millisecond I am locked in battle with one of the most despised creatures on the planet.
It's claws take every advantage, trying to sever the arteries of my wrists. If my grasp loosens, just a bit, I could become a victim of it's buzz saw teeth. It's fur is new and sleek from the winter molt, making purchase
difficult as it struggles for air. I know I am destine to be front page news every February 2 from now on.
Look for me with Phil on a hide stretcher.
Zuma
