HUNTING THE CLEAN BOOTY

  booty

HUNTING THE CLEAN BOOTY

        Once upon a dawn in The Kingdom of Belgium on a little farm there was an old farmer who went to his chicken coop to collect the eggs that he had counted the night before.

        When old farmer Boer raised up his lantern he realized that the chickens were gone and that there were no eggs.  He cried out, “Fok!”

        Old farmer Boer’s hound dog Kloot heard the distress and loped into the chicken coop.

        Old Boer cried, “Kloot!  Where are the chickens?  There were fifty eggs here!  You were guarding them!”

        Kloot looked up at his master’s face and then his gaze followed his master’s dicing hand and Kloot whined, “Rrr?”

        Old Boer began to dance with disbelief, crying, “My chickens!  My eggs!”

        Kloot followed the casting gestures of his master’s hand and began to sweep the chicken coop for scents.

        Old Boer cried, “He got clean away!  You’ll have to hunt the clean boot, ol’ Kloot!” which meant to follow a raw scent without the primer of scented clothing for Kloot to calibrate.

        Kloot came upon an imprint in the straw and he jerked his head back as if the scent had punched his nose.  Kloot howled.

        Old Boer almost tossed the lantern in triumph and commanded, “Find him Kloot!  Find him!”

        Kloot twitched with excitement as he inhaled the scent images of the intruder.  Reeling out of the chicken coop door Kloot came to another “door” slit three-edges into the wire chicken fence.

        Old Boer shouted, “Wait!  My gun!”

        Kloot whined in circles until Old Boer returned with his hunting rifle.  They both set off into the woods, Kloot following the seductive scent.

        Old Boer mumbled as he tromped along, saying, “There are no chicken feathers, no broken eggs.  Even that moederneuker (motherfucker) fox couldn’t heist fifty eggs!”

        Kloot had the scent image of a vixen, the female fox, and chickens and eggs and bones and decay.  The woods grew dense and dark.

        Ahead there appeared a glow.

        Kloot and Old Boer came to an illuminated clearing.  Old Boer exhaled, “Fok!” and Kloot whined, “Rrr?”

        In the clearing was a radiant woman.  She had voluminous red hair bound at the back of her head into a large fox-tail.  Her modesty was concealed in a vest of feathers and a loin garment of feathers.  She wore booties of pale skin.  Suspended before her outstretched hands was a spiraling halo of fifty eggs.

        Old Boer began to jabber in shock, “My eggs!  My chickens!  What have you done with my chickens?”

        The luminous woman looked at Old Boer and nodded seductively, and said, “Hello Farmer Boer.  I am Queen Vosse.”

        And suddenly her feathered attire burst into a surrounding sphere of frantic chickens.  Queen Vosse stood there naked but for her booties of pale skin.  Then just as suddenly the chickens collapsed back to become her feathered garments once again.

        Kloot whined, “Rrr?”

        Queen Vosse said to Old Boer, “Join my suitors and consort with me as you like.  She nodded again and at once Old Boer was a strapping young man, burning within.  He slowly began to approach the fantastical woman.

        Kloot held a different scent image than Old Boer’s visual images.  Kloot saw his master move unguarded toward the apparition and Kloot howled and charged.

        Queen Vosse screamed to Old Boer, “Stop him!  I have no power over hounds!”

        The young man that had been Old Boer was quick to raise his rifle now.  As Kloot leapt to bite Queen Vosses’s upper leg he fired his rifle at Kloot.

        Kloot barked in a scream as the bullet tore tissue from his spine but he did not fail to chomp onto Queen Vosses’s thigh as the fantastical woman then instantly vanished into a burst of frantic chickens and the fifty eggs splattered into the dirt and the leg in Kloot’s mouth became a relic thighbone.  He did not release his jaws even as he thudded to the ground.

        The young man vanished into Old Boer as he wailed, “Kloot!  Kloot!  No!  Noooo!”

        Chickens ran in frenzied circles all around Old Boer as he stood over the body of his ol’ Kloot.  He cried as he dropped the rifle and raised up Kloot in his arms still clutching tight the relic thighbone.

        He looked down again and saw that the pale booties of Queen Vosse had been made of clean human skin.

        Old Boer staggered with his burden of tears back through the woods toward his farm followed by an unruly train of chickens.

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