Corb and I drove over to pick Thumbkin up at his friend Joannie's farm. As we road down the dirt path that led to her house, we were greeted by the sight of Joannie driving across her lawn in a John Deere sitting next to her fiancee, Leslie, with a rifle between her legs.
"We're hunting a fox," she informed us, as we got out of the car. "Damn thing got in the henhouse and killed 30 chickens."
I was tempted to ask to tag along for the fox hunt, but Corb and I had other things to do that day, so she led us into her house and we packed Thumbkin up for the ride home. He was fairly content during the trip, and was great with the kids that night, but got kind of moody later in the evening, and doesn't seem to like it when I pick him up. He does like me tossing his bouncy ball, however.
"Just you watch," Corb said to me as we were driving home. "The kids are going to beg you to sleep over tonight." Sure enough, he was right.