Alice here. My brother Stassi was a hunter. He hunted till the last few minutes of his life. The keeper says that in the vet's examination room he sniffed out every corner and drawer, and even batted at imaginary bugs on the wall. The pictures above are from his hunting expedition this past summer. He found the mouse under the house, and stalked it for hours, and finally brought it indoors for us to admire. He never would have killed it. It was a toy and a badge of honor for him. The keeper trapped it and put it in a spinach container and then he spent hours watching it and admiring his work. I grew bored quickly but he was fascinated till the keeper made the box and mouse go away. But he strutted around all afternoon and evening, and I was proud to say that we shared the same home. The day before he died he checked out the whole yard, hoping for another shot at a mouse or little bird. No such luck. They can all rest a little easier now. The great hunter is pursuing greater game elsewhere.
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