Sunday, May 12, 2024
051224
To the tiny brim infesting Mr and Mrs White's small pond, the 11-inch bass I caught there one time must have been JAWS. All the times we fished there we never saw another bass. So, how did it get there? Did its mother lurk in the 6-ft depth of the pond center, an agent of piscine murder as long as my arm? The year of the drought, when the pond almost dried up, we never saw a fin circling the remnant of the deeps. I refuse to accept the mundane suggestion that the bass had been tossed into the pond, by someone, after an unbelievably successful trip to a larger and better source of aquatic foodstuffs. .
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